A Midsummer Day's Dream
by BitShifter
Summary: Emma goes for a ride. Steed lives up to his name.
1. Riverside Picnic

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**"A Midsummer Day's Dream"**

An Avengers Fanfiction

_The sixteenth in a series of adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)_

**Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

_Emma goes for a ride. Steed lives up to his name._

**June 1965**

A warm summer breeze caused the moored boat to bump gently against the bank in the green rushes of Surrey. The Thames' current was slow here; mild enough for punting, and several lovers were taking advantage of the sunny afternoon. Emma Peel leaned back and stretched lazily on the blanket under the shade of two large willows, watching the boats drift by. She was wearing lavender-silk Oriental lounging pajamas; they were thin and lightweight, but still covered enough skin to prevent sunburn. Emma extended her arm outward and waggled an empty wineglass in one hand.

Steed reached across the picnic hamper and filled the glass with Chablis, then set the empty bottle nearby. He had towed the wine alongside the boat so that it would be at the perfect serving temperature. The meal had been flawless, as well: seasoned beef and chicken broil. Emma watched as Steed carefully removed dessert items from the hamper. He was dressed in white ducks and a blue-and-gold striped jacket; on his head he wore a jaunty straw boater. Very dapper.

"You've certainly dressed nattily," she commented.

"I didn't know you'd met Natalie," Steed teased.

Emma frowned at the bad pun. Steed reclined beside her and offered her a cucumber sandwich; she delicately nibbled it from his hand and made an "mmm" sound as she sipped at the last of the wine. The sudden clatter of a cargo boat being unloaded in the distance almost caused her to spill a drop.

"It's getting harder to find places around London with pastoral settings anymore," she declared.

"Industrialization has reached even here," he agreed.

"I blame James Watt."

"Blame him the next time you watch the telly."

"I'd rather curl up with a good book."

Steed raised an eyebrow. "Tess of the d'Urbervilles?"

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Newton's _Principia_."

"How risqué."

"It moves me," she said wryly.

Steed munched a biscuit as he leaned back on his elbows and gazed at the sky.

"A Ferrari 375," he announced.

"Where?" Emma perked up. There wasn't any street in sight.

"Up there." He pointed far above the southern horizon. "That cloud."

"It's merely a random collection of water vapor held aloft by thermal currents due to solar heating."

A grin tugged at the corner of Steed's mouth. "Of course, Mrs. Peel."

She shouldered next to him and studied the sky in companionable silence for a few moments.

"The open-cockpit Spyder version," she said finally. "With the headrest and fin."

"What happened to a 'random collection of water vapor'?"

"Doesn't mean it can't have a shape."

"How do you know so much about cars?"

"I have a close friend who's interested in vintage automobiles."

Steed smiled. "Anyone I know?"

Emma smirked back, silently inverting the wine bottle in front of him and shaking it to emphasize its emptiness. "Your currency has run out."

He snapped his fingers. "I have an idea." Jumping to his feet, he pulled the wooden pole about twice his height from the soft mud and headed for the punt.

"Back in a jiff!" he proclaimed brightly.

Emma smiled. She had already guessed his scheme. A few hundred yards back, at the last crossing, there was an off-licence shop. Steed had probably gotten the idea when they drifted past. He could bank the boat on the grassy slope and nip up for a bottle of chilled champagne. Its taste would be excellent with the aged cheese that remained in the hamper. Maybe he would be clever enough to buy some fruit juice, and they could have mimosas. She threw a casual wave in answer to his as he poled away, then nestled back against the willow tree to wait.

The drone of insects and the occasional river noise were the only sounds in the midsummer heat. Emma watched a single butterfly make an erratic flight across her field of vision. She sat in stillness for a full minute, mesmerized by the impossible motions that kept it airborne. The sky had turned an unusual shade of yellow—the afternoon was still early; it must be some sort of temperature inversion, she thought.

Suddenly she realized her distraction, and her senses went on alert. She held her breath as she slowly turned her head to scan the area.

Barely visible behind the other willow tree, a man peeked out from concealment. His face was covered by a chessboard mask.

The banks of the Thames. That's where he'd disappeared from, after being swept off the train.

She leaped to her feet and took off after her nemesis at a dead run. The man was a step too quick for her; he reached a wall of shrubs less than thirty yards away. Without slowing down in the least, he plunged into the hedgerow. When she arrived a second later, she was forced to stumble to a stop. The bushes were an impenetrable tangle of juniper and blackberry. How had he gotten through?

Carefully walking in either direction along the obstacle, she looked for an opening, but found none. Just as she was about to tear into the branches with her bare hands, the insistent braying of hunting horns sounded in the clearing.

She tossed her auburn head and turned towards the noise. Was the man in the chessboard mask already being pursued?

A fox with reddish hair emerged from the low brush across the way and headed for her with an easy lope. Its gait was most curious—it wasn't just running, it was _prancing._ The horns came even closer.

The activity wasn't a manhunt, she realized—it was a foxhunt. The fox stopped and winked at her before diving into the hedgerow. The brambles just seemed to swallow up the animal. She performed a close-up examination that once again showed no means of entry. She pursed her lips in thought.

That was strange. Foxes didn't usually wink at her.

With a thundering of hooves and paws, a group of mounted hunters and a pack of hounds burst into the clearing. She stood back and gave the party a wide berth; they completely ignored her and headed for the wall of shrubs. The hunters were in the same boat she was—they couldn't penetrate the foliage, either. They hesitated for only a second before continuing along the path parallel to the hedgerow. She briefly debated calling them back to hack through the shrubbery to pursue the man in the chessboard mask, but that would betray the fox.

The clamor of the hunters faded in the distance, and soon the only noise in the clearing was a leisurely clip-clop sound. On the other side of the glen, a pure white stallion wearing a bowler hat between his ears was bringing up the rear, riderless. The horse headed directly for her along the stone-paved path, and when he was only a few feet away, he extended a leg and bent down on one knee in a graceful dressage bow.

Not knowing exactly how to respond to such a greeting, she decided to return the bow. Her head was almost level with the horse's withers before she noticed that she was ventilating her chest. She had on a white satin halter dress, and the thin fabric had billowed from her neck to her waist, exposing her.

"I don't remember wearing this," she said aloud. "I usually wear something with a bit more coverage." She was cinching up the fabric closer to her torso when the horse suddenly spoke.

"Don't talk to me about coverage," he said. "All I have is the hat."

Her eyes widened in amazement. "You can speak!"

"If I have something to say," the horse replied as he rose back up. "I think your dress looks very regal," he added. "Scanty, but regal."

She folded her arms. "They're leaving you behind. Shouldn't you be chasing after the Fox?"

"Too much like work," the horse answered glibly. "Mind you, her fur _is_ a gorgeous shade of red."

"They'll be miles ahead of you by now."

"No worries. I know a shortcut. But I have to make it look good, or the other horses will know I've cheated." He moved close enough to fix her with his gentle, dark eyes. "What's your name?"

She pulled a strand of auburn hair back from her face. "I—I don't know."

"Think now," the horse prompted. "_Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear—_"

She sighed. "It's just not coming to me." She unfolded her arms and ventured a tender touch to the horse's muzzle. "How about you? What's your name?"

The horse cocked his head. "Come to think of it, I don't know mine either."

"_Happy birthday to you,_" she began singing, "_Happy Birthday—_"

"Don't be silly," he interrupted. "Horses don't have birthday parties."

She gestured to the hedgerow. "I was chasing a man in a chessboard mask."

"Well, now, that _does_ sound rather interesting."

"He vanished into the bushes. I can't get through."

"There might be a spot down the row," the horse offered. "I have some time to kill. Hop on."

She withdrew her hand uncertainly. "Without a saddle? In this dress?"

"You could always ride side-saddle."

"It's easier just to perform some alterations." She reached down and starting ripping the dress upwards to her waist, stopping when she reached her thighs to make sure she had on underwear before going any higher. She did; white nylon. It puzzled her that she didn't remember getting dressed that morning.

The horse obligingly knelt to allow her to throw one leg over his back, and she firmly straddled him, sweeping the two lower halves of the dress back from her waist. The horse rose up and turned his head sideways to speak to her.

"I'll call you Ryder," he announced.

"I'll call you Steed," she said politely.

The Steed proceeded to do a quick test loop once around the clearing, starting at a slow canter before speeding up. She held on to his mane with both hands, balancing her weight against the motion.

She hadn't ridden bareback since she was a girl. Somehow, that memory was clear. Now that she was an adult, the experience was completely different. She reached down with one hand and tugged at her panties. In addition, she usually wore considerably more than a single layer of nylon between her and her mount. As the Steed galloped around the glen, she felt the rhythmic slap against her most delicate area. While it might be painful for a long trip, the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant. She briefly wondered how Lady Godiva accomplished her ride without alternately crying out in pain and cooing in ecstasy. She decided she could tolerate it for a chase of short duration.

The Steed slowed to a trot, his surging back muscles massaging her between her thighs. For a second, her breath caught. The horse noticed.

"Miss Ryder? Everything okay?" he asked. "Not too uncomfortable, is it?"

"No. This feels... right." Miss Ryder pressed her knees into his warm sides and rubbed her bare feet against his ribcage.

"Well, then," the Steed said jovially, "off we go!"

-oOo-


	2. To The Forward Ranks

**Chapter 2**

The Steed trotted over to the hedgerow. The shrubbery was too dense to penetrate and too high to jump over; and even if vaulting it were possible, no clue as to whether any landing would be afforded on the other side. Miss Ryder pointed towards the stone path.

"The hunters went that a-way," she said.

"Then we'll go this a-way," the Steed countered, heading off in the opposite direction along the row. Miss Ryder started to object; then reasoned that one direction would be as likely to succeed as another. After a canter of a few hundred yards, the Steed's efforts were rewarded: there was a narrow opening in the hedge.

The path leading inside was dirt, rather than paved with stone. Eight-foot high bushes formed a border on both sides like the entrance to a garden maze. A rose-covered trellis arched overhead with a sign reading 'TO THE FORWARD RANKS.'

"Makes it sound like we're heading into a battle," Miss Ryder mused.

The Steed teasingly backed up. "We could always keep searching for a more hospitable entrance."

"Time is of the essence. I don't want my quarry to escape."

"I took that for granite," said the Steed as he darted under the archway.

Miss Ryder frowned at the bad pun as she clung to the white horse's mane and tried to stay upright in spite of the speed, hoping to get a glimpse of the landscape in any direction over the towering shrubs. No landmarks were visible through the hedges; they were still running blind. The only course of action was to hurry down the green corridor and hope that they eventually came out on the same path as the man in the chessboard mask.

The Steed broke stride and his nostrils flared. "What's that smell?" he asked.

Miss Ryder pulled the strands of auburn hair back from her face and sniffed.

"Something sweet?" she offered.

A viscous bubbling sound became audible over the horse's labored breathing. He slowed down as a clearing appeared in the path ahead.

A wood fire was smoldering away under a large cauldron. To one side, a golden-haired lion was standing on his hind legs, stirring the pot's contents with a wooden paddle. Even more unexpected was the fact that the lion was clothed in finery: he wore a delicately brocaded jacket with ruffled cuffs and an Elizabethan collar, and jeweled spats where his ankles would be.

"Isn't he a dandy!" the Steed remarked.

Miss Ryder nodded. "It smells like he's making treacle." As they moved closer, she noticed a swirling in the air above the cauldron.

"He's not alone," she observed. "What's that over the kettle?"

A low humming could be heard across the glade, and both horse and rider recognized a swarm of bees hovering above the sticky mixture. Even as they watched, one of the bees started to grow in size. At first it appeared to be a trick of perspective; but after a few seconds, it was clear that the bee was growing to the same height as the lion. A small tiara adorned the bee's head.

"She must be the Queen Bee," the Steed commented.

"Leo and Buzzer!" Miss Ryder remarked suddenly.

"How did you know their names?"

"I'm not quite sure," she answered. "No, wait—I've seen their pictures on a Golden Syrup can."

"Since you're so familiar with them, ask if they'll let us pass," the Steed suggested. He stepped forward carefully, ready to make a preemptive charge should the meeting turn nasty.

Miss Ryder addressed the lion. "Sir Leo—" she began earnestly.

"Mmm... you can call me _Mistress_ Leo," the Queen Bee hummed in correction as she interposed her body. They could now see that she was dressed in a strange leather outfit with stiletto heels on her rear legs.

"And I'm Sir Buzzer," put in the Dandy Lion.

"The bee is Leo and the lion is Buzzer?" the Steed asked in confusion.

"Yes," answered Buzzer. "And you are—?"

Miss Ryder patted the horse's neck. "We're not sure."

"Mmm... intruders, I should say." The Queen Bee moved menacingly closer.

"I call him Steed, and he calls me Miss Ryder."

"Don't be ridiculous," said the Dandy Lion as he produced a hankie from his sleeve and dabbed his nostrils. "You're the White Knight."

"Mmm," the Queen Bee concurred, "and her Steed!"

Miss Ryder wrinkled her mouth. "I'm not a Knight. At least, I don't think I am."

"But you _are_ riding the White Steed," the Lion countered. He turned to look at the Queen Bee, who was now staring intently at Miss Ryder.

"She definitely has mmm... appeal," Mistress Leo droned sexily.

Something in the bee's voice caused Miss Ryder to check that her dress hadn't come loose again. "I thought bees liked honey."

"We _make_ honey," the Queen Bee said haughtily. "Mmm... we like treacle." She daubed one of her forward appendages into the cauldron and put it to her mouth to lick it clean.

Miss Ryder shifted uneasily on the horse's back. "We're chasing a man in a chessboard mask," she announced.

"The Black Rook!" the Lion exclaimed.

The Queen Bee's eyes flashed angrily. "I'd like to cover him in treacle," she hissed. The bees hovering behind her started to buzz more loudly in reflection of her mood. They swirled through the air in close formation, then coalesced into the shape of a chesspiece rook.

"Did the Rook come this way?" the Steed asked.

It was difficult to hear over the furious droning. The Lion shook his head. "He must be on a different file."

Miss Ryder shifted once again, this time inadvertently revealing a flash of her panties before sweeping the two halves of the dress forward for cover. Mistress Leo smirked at the sight.

"You look like you could use a saddle, girl," she said. "And you're looking for the Black Rook. Lucky for you, there's someone who can help you on both counts. If you can survive, that is."

The Dandy Lion nodded in agreement. "You want Miss Stalking Panther," he pronounced seriously. The bees over Mistress Leo's head formed into the silhouette of a panther.

"What's so unusual about a panther that talks?" Miss Ryder asked. "All of the animals seem to talk around here."

"Not Talking, _Stalking_," the Queen Bee corrected over the hum. "The Panther is _Stalking_."

"Panthers in stockings?" the Steed asked. "How do they stay up?"

Miss Ryder furrowed her brow. "They drink coffee before bedtime?" she offered. The bees were confused for a moment, then formed the shape of a coffee pot.

"They stay up with a garter, of course," the Lion answered.

The Steed twitched an ear. "A guarder? What is the Panther guarding?"

"Her stockings?" Miss Ryder ventured.

The Lion shrugged. "Can't say what she's guarding, really. All she does is stalk all day."

Miss Ryder turned to the Queen Bee. "Where do we find this Talking—er, _Stalking_—Panther?"

Leo gave her an enigmatic look. "Where the thicket grows thickest," she said simply. "Whenever you see a fork in the path, follow the branch with the most branches, as it were." The picture-forming bees surpassed themselves with a rendition of jungle, complete with twisted roots, moss, and lianas.

"Beware the Black Rook," Buzzer warned as he straightened his elaborate cuffs. "He has Pawns everywhere. Be a shame if you were eliminated before the Game has barely started."

"Although it's more likely you will become a meal for a certain Panther," Mistress Leo crooned wickedly. She sampled the treacle again.

"I think it's ready," she said. The bees over her head converged, forming a tightly-knit three-dimensional cup that dipped into the mixture and then eerily levitated for the Lion to take a sip.

"Perfect!" he declared as he smacked his lips. The bee-cup hovered over to Mistress Leo, and she drank deep. The strange creatures seemed to have forgotten their visitors.

"Er—thank you for your help," Miss Ryder said with a bow, rubbing her toes against the horse's flank to indicate a retreat. The Steed picked up her message and maneuvered to the other side of the glade. Miss Ryder didn't speak again until they were well on their way down the path.

"I'm glad to be clear of those two. They looked capably dangerous," she said. "And with the sound of those bees, we could hardly hear ourselves think."

"Does one usually hear oneself thinking?" the Steed parried. "And what does a brain sound like? A smooth hum? Or maybe a mechanical clockwork tick?"

Miss Ryder playfully tugged on his mane. "Perhaps yours makes a galloping noise," she teased. "Although right now, I suspect it's a more of a light trot."

-oOo-

The tree limbs on either side were encroaching more and more on the path, and soon the two travelers found themselves moving through a forest of jungle-like density. Even the humidity seemed to have increased as the Steed picked his way through vines that tugged and scrabbled at his hooves.

"Did you bring a machete?" he asked lightly.

"Stay alert," Miss Ryder cautioned, her eyes panning from side to side. "This would be a perfect place for an ambush."

"Why so nervous?" the Steed asked.

"I have this feeling..." she answered quietly, her voice trailing off.

"What feeling?" the Steed whispered.

Miss Ryder whirled around to look behind the horse. "Like we're being stalked!"

She found herself face-to-face with a jet-black feline crouched on a limb just inches away. The jade eyes blinked once, the gold flecks in them dancing with fire as the panther began in a silky smooth voice.

"You have excellent hearing, girl."

The Steed deftly turned about, flattening his ears as he interposed his head and neck to shield Miss Ryder should the creature choose to attack. The tight quarters prevented him from backing up to a safer distance. The Stalking Panther slunk down to the ground and stood upright.

"And I see the horse has excellent instincts to protect his rider," she purred.

Both horse and rider stared at the strange creature. Mistress Panther was dressed head to toe in a black leather catsuit with a zipper running up the middle. Even the tail was encased in a sleeve of leather. It seemed completely pointless, since she already had a pelt of her own. The leather-sheathed tail swung menacingly from side to side.

Miss Ryder accidentally said out loud, "What possible purpose could an outfit like that serve?"

"It allows me to kill with style," the Panther answered. She began circling her prey, and the Steed was forced to execute a fancy combination of rotating steps to keep the predator constantly in front of him. The sound of crinkling leather was unnerving, and it brought up the question of how Mistress Panther had managed to creep up on them so silently.

Miss Ryder couldn't suppress a thrill, in spite of the danger. While her own white gown was certainly elegant and regal, as the Steed had observed, there was something exotic and decadent about the leather that Mistress Panther wore. She found herself wondering how it would feel to wear something just like that.

The Panther moved in closer. "I've been craving fresh meat."

Miss Ryder whispered into the horse's ear, "Is she talking about you, or me?"

The Steed suddenly echoed the words of the Queen Bee. "This is the White Knight!" he proclaimed. "I'm her Steed."

"It looks like the Knight will have to proceed on foot, then." Mistress Panther continued her fluid stalking.

Miss Ryder murmured to the Steed, "Apparently, you're the dinner." She tried to match the horse's bravado.

"You can't harm my Steed. I need him to track and capture the Black Rook."

"Anyone could say that," the Panther snorted. "You've probably never even seen the Black Rook."

"He wears a chessboard mask," Miss Ryder said levelly. "Black and white squares."

The Panther's motions slowed.

"So you _do_ know him." She paused before letting out a resigned sigh. "In that case, killing your horse will not be necessary. I'll merely take a small filet from his rump." With a rapid swoop Mistress Panther suddenly displayed razor-sharp claws. "I promise surgical precision."

"Certainly not!" the Steed protested. "My rump is my best part!"

The Panther licked her lips. "My palate will be the judge of that."

Miss Ryder's eyes flashed. "There will be no fileting of my mount!" she announced sternly.

The Panther hesitated at the passion and resolve in her voice. Before the jungle cat could recover, Miss Ryder pressed the advantage.

"We just spoke with the Queen Bee—Mistress Leo. It seems as if everyone dislikes the Black Rook. Does that include you?"

"He's a treacherous man," Mistress Panther mused. "Smooth and polished on the outside, but with a dark heart on the inside."

"You seem a bit dark yourself," commented the Steed. Miss Ryder swatted his shoulder, not wanting him to break up the tentative truce. The Panther lifted herself into the tree with one paw and curled bonelessly on a branch.

"I kill for food," she said to the horse. "The Black Rook kills for pleasure."

"I hope you won't insist on a meal," Miss Ryder continued. "I have to keep up my pursuit with the utmost speed."

The Stalking Panther shook her head. "Too late. The Black Rook has probably already returned to his Castle. He can move very quickly along straight lines. You, on the other hand, are forced to meander." She casually sharpened her nails against the bark. "You'll have to penetrate deep into Black territory to capture him now."

"I see," Miss Ryder sighed. "I was afraid something like that would happen."

At last, the rider's predicament seemed to melt the Panther's hostility. She hung on the branch a moment, judging the travelers. Could these two succeed in their quest? After all, a Knight _could_ capture a Rook. She reached a decision and lowered herself back to the ground.

"You need some leathers, girl. That dress will be in tatters by midday."

Miss Ryder looked hopeful. "The Queen Bee told me you know where I can get a saddle."

"Take the left-hand path. In the village you'll find a Tanner. He can put you up in leather."

"Any chance he'll know the way to the Black Rook's fortress?" the Steed asked.

The Stalking Panther let the question hang unanswered.

"You should make contact with the White King," she said mysteriously. "Then you'll know what to do."

-oOo-

The path wound its way from the forest down into a brush-strewn valley, and even though the shrubs were only neck high, they still zigzagged at right angles to form a challenging maze. From her position high on the Steed, Miss Ryder guided the horse towards a cottage on the outskirts of a small village.

Surrounding the thatched house were wooden frames with ferret and rabbit pelts stretched out in the sun. Surely, this would be the home of the Tanner. The sound of the Steed's hooves on the loose gravel must have alerted the occupant; a tall figure with a face covered in hair, or perhaps fur, emerged from the front of the building. Miss Ryder thought that he might be an animal—maybe a bear—until she saw human eyes, nose, and mouth.

The strange man looked at her, but said nothing. Miss Ryder thought it would be suitably ironic if after all of the talking creatures, the Tanner lacked the power of speech. Finally, he spoke—slowly, evenly, and only one sentence.

"I could do a lot with horsehide."

The Steed stopped in his tracks. "I think _this_ horse should be hiding."

Miss Ryder inclined her head. "You're human," she observed.

"No need for insults, Miss."

"I mean, it seems like talking animals are the order of the day."

The Tanner wasn't much for conversation; instead, he walked around the horse with a measured stare.

"I'll give you twenty gold sovereigns," he announced.

Miss Ryder started to say that she was buying, not selling; then realized that she didn't have any gold to purchase anything. It would probably be the best strategy to simply demand, and hope to trick the Tanner into giving.

The Tanner continued his negotiation. "I only need the skin," he added matter-of-factly. "You can keep the meat; several good meals in there. Fine London broil."

Miss Ryder frowned. "I have no intention of eating my horse."

The Tanner shrugged. "All the more for me, then."

"I _mean_, I need the horse for transport." Everyone wanted to kill the Steed. "I was hoping you might provide me with a saddle."

"I have nowhere near enough leather for a saddle," he said flatly.

She pursed her lips. "Forget the saddle then. If you can provide me with a leather outfit, at least I won't chafe."

The Tanner got an odd, almost perverse expression on his face. "I suppose I might have a nice leather outfit for you. In black."

"They told me that I was the White Knight," she countered.

The Tanner grinned as he stared at the horse. "Only one source of white leather around here."

The Steed nervously backed up a few hoofsteps. Miss Ryder patted his shoulder. "But if I wear black, people will think I'm on the other side," she protested.

The Steed nodded agreement. "If she gets caught wearing the other side's color, she'll be hanged as a spy."

The Tanner folded his arms. "No concern of mine."

"Don't you have something in a lighter color, like brown?" Miss Ryder asked. "Maybe an outfit like the Stalking Panther wears, so my legs won't rub so much."

"Oh?" the horse remarked suddenly, disappointment evident in his voice.

"What's wrong with that?" Miss Ryder asked.

"It's just that I'll miss the feeling of your warm, bare thighs," the Steed confessed.

The Tanner retrieved a box from his work area and slammed it on the top rail of the fence with a thump. "This is all I have." He reached inside and pulled out a few scant square inches of leather and displayed them between his hands.

It took a moment for Miss Ryder to recognize what the miniscule pieces of hide were: a black leather mini-skirt and a skimpy lace-up bodice. Her eyes widened at the wanton apparel.

"That's all you can spare?" she asked incredulously. "The Stalking Panther has an entire _suit_ made of leather."

The Tanner shook his head. "Leather is rare. It doesn't grow on trees, you know, except in the tropics."

Miss Ryder wrinkled her mouth, displeased. This wasn't what she had in mind. Still, perhaps the garments were larger than they looked.

"Give me those," she ordered. Taking the small pieces of leather, Miss Ryder dismounted from the horse and stalked towards a nearby bush. She faced away from the Tanner and the Steed and untied the neck straps to let the top half of the dress fall to her waist, exposing her delicately-muscled bare back.

Miss Ryder shrugged into the bodice and found her original assessment was correct—it stopped several inches above her navel. In fact, the garment seemed hardly deserving of the name 'bodice' at all; it was more like a lace-up bra with two or three extra inches of leather at the bottom. Still, there was no denying it would be more comfortable than the torn halter dress, and ironically offered better coverage where it mattered.

She unhitched the dress and let it fall to her ankles, then wrangled the leather miniskirt up over her white panties and laced up the waist. It was so short it could barely hide her underwear. Miss Ryder reflexively tugged the hem down in the back. She could feel eyes behind her and turned to see the Tanner and Steed were watching in amusement.

"If you bend over," the Steed commented wryly, "the Black pieces will see white and know you're a spy."

"I'll scold you later for your voyeurism," she countered tersely, "but you make a reasonable point." She looked at the Tanner. "I don't suppose you know a Weaver who could make me some black undergarments?"

He shook his head. "No one like that around here." He began rummaging through the box, again giving her a perverse grin.

"Leather is rare," the Tanner said, "but laces are easy." He pulled out a small triangle of glistening black leather tied by flimsy thongs. Miss Ryder recognized it as a shocking leather G-string.

"You've got to be kidding," she retorted. "Don't you have any coverage for my rear?"

The Steed narrowed his eyes at the undergarment. "If you bend over wearing that, the Black pieces will _still_ see white and know you're a spy."

"After my riding you without a saddle, I think all they'll be able to see is black and blue," Miss Ryder said as she remounted the Steed. At least the leather would be more protective than nylon. "I guess it'll have to do."

The Tanner leered, "Don't you want to try it on now? Make sure it fits?"

Miss Ryder balefully returned his grin. "Not a chance."

She took the diminutive G-string from his hand and checked the suppleness of the leather. It was certainly thin and soft, wrapping clingily around her fingers. Miss Ryder tried to imagine the tiny triangular pouch cradling her most precious area.

"I suppose if it fails as an undergarment, I could always use it as a sling to throw rocks," she said as she tucked it away into the decolletage of her bodice.

The Steed perked to attention. "Speaking of which, what will you use as a weapon against the Rook?"

"I think I'll do fine with fisticuffs, judo, and karate."

"You know those?"

"I suppose I must," Miss Ryder answered confidently. "I don't know how I know, I just do."

"But the Black Rook is a man," the Steed persisted.

"I know seventeen ladylike ways to disable a man, and three or four unladylike ones."

The Tanner snorted skeptically as he rooted through his box of wares. "And which way do you prefer?"

Miss Ryder gave him a level smirk. "Depends on the man."

He scowled and shook his head. "I have a perfect weapon for you."

Both horse and rider's eyes widened as the Tanner produced a braided black leather whip. Miss Ryder took it by the handle and let the long lash unfurl along the horse's shoulder.

The Steed was alarmed. "You don't plan to use that on me?"

"Shhh," she said, stroking his mane with her other hand as she addressed the hidesman. "That's the best you can do?"

"I'm a Tanner, not a Blacksmith. It's not like I could forge you a weapon. Whips and slings are all I have."

"Very well," she said imperiously, deciding to hurry things along before the Tanner brought up the subject of payment. "Do you know the way to the palace of the White King?"

"Just keep heading toward the coast," he said. "You can ask the Whales at Swan Sea."

Miss Ryder brushed her toes against the horse's flank and he started to trot away down the path.

"Hey, what about payment?" the Tanner shouted angrily.

"I'll have the White King send you compensation," she called back over her shoulder.

"What guarantee do I have?"

The Steed stopped and turned. Miss Ryder was silent for a moment as she gave the Tanner a withering glare. Her voice was cold and expressionless.

"You dare to question the word of the White Knight?"

The Tanner grumbled in response, but didn't seem to want to risk angering the powers-that-be on the White side. Miss Ryder held her head high and didn't look back as she guided the Steed out of the village.

"Well played," said the Steed.

-oOo-

With the village left behind, the Steed followed the wide, well-worn path towards a body of water in the distance. Miss Ryder looked thoughtful as she leaned forward and adjusted the horse's bowler.

"What you said...," she mused quietly into his ear, "...about being a spy. That might be the best way to find the whereabouts of the Black Rook. I pretend to be the Black Knight, and the enemy pieces will confide in me."

"Yes," the horse agreed, "a spy game. I think you would do quite well."

"Then it's time for me to change all the way," she said as she tapped her big toe lightly against the horse's side. The Steed understood and steered toward the edge of the path so she could dismount, then retreated a respectful distance away.

Miss Ryder loosened the bodice that she had overtightened trying to hide her bosom from the Tanner. Her leather outfit was certainly risqué, though she had to admit she preferred a bare midriff when practicing martial arts: it made it easier to twist and gyrate when performing high kicks. The miniskirt was a loosely-pleated Roman style—good for freedom of movement, but also likely to flap about and expose what was underneath.

That brought her to the leather G-string, which she pulled out of the hiding place in her top and examined more closely. The surface of the triangle shimmered like liquid. How could the brutish Tanner possess the skill to render leather so incredibly thin and filmy? Wearing something like this would be very nearly obscene. The undergarment's outline-revealing properties wouldn't have mattered so much if the skirt weren't so short.

She felt a thrill as she slipped her white nylon panties down to her ankles and kicked them aside, discarding the last proof of which side of the chessboard she served. The cool breeze swirled around her nakedness as she positioned the black leather triangle between her thighs. After tying two quick, tight bows, she tugged the single back-lace into the cleavage of her rump.

The garment clung to her feminine parts almost protectively, and Miss Ryder began to appreciate the attraction it held for Mistress Panther. Wearing leather, even an amount as small as this, made her feel invulnerable, invincible. She felt a sudden urge to show off to the Steed. Caching the unused white gown and panties behind a rock, she returned to the path.

The Steed had been grazing absently and turned his head as she approached. Miss Ryder stood before the horse and mischievously lifted the hem of her miniskirt, spinning slowly around to display the results.

"Now I'm dressed completely in black," she said with a winsome smile. "How do I look?"

The horse took in her exposed backside and the thin leather triangle adhering to the heart of her womanhood, and visibly gulped.

"Your hindquarters and fetlocks are superb!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

Miss Ryder was surprised to feel herself redden not with shame, but with pleasure. "I mean," she corrected, "do I look like a Black Knight?"

"You look more like some sort of Warrior Princess," the Steed said, "so I think no one will dare question you." He bowed deeply so that she could climb onto his back.

Miss Ryder wrapped her legs around the Steed as he rose again. As she had hoped, the leather undergarment felt sturdier between her and the horse than the nylon panties, even if it was no less stimulating. She draped the whip in a loose loop around the horse's neck, its handle within easy reach. She was equipped for action and ready for her pursuit of the Black Rook.

They continued down the path, and at the top of every rise they could see the body of water looming larger and larger. The Steed broke into a prancing dressage _piaffe_, lifting his knees up and down, almost in a dance.

Miss Ryder laughed, "Why are you in such high spirits?"

The Steed neighed with delight before answering, "I still have your bare thighs to keep me warm."

"Try not to bump so much," she chided. "I wasn't joking about being bruised. My legs feel like tenderized beef."

"I'll try to tread more lightly," the Steed promised. "For your thighs only."

-oOo-


	3. Strange Aquatic

**Chapter 3**

The path led down to a sand-covered beach nestled among dark, rolling hills. Several long-necked white birds were gliding across an expanse of water that stretched into the distance, with no opposite shore in sight. Barely a ripple disturbed the surface as the graceful birds moved about, their propulsion systems hidden below in the form of steadily paddling feet.

"This must be the Swan Sea," the Steed said.

Miss Ryder scanned the coastline as the horse stood at the water's edge. She blinked in shock. The dark hills really _were_ rolling. They were alive. Some of them, at least.

Several large black whales were lumbering towards her, standing upright on their tailfins as they propelled themselves forward with a rocking motion. Miss Ryder marveled at their balance and agility, top-heavy as they were. She watched wide-eyed.

"I didn't know that whales could walk on their tails that way," she said.

"It's just a fluke," the Steed commented.

The oncoming whales made a daunting sight. Miss Ryder couldn't help but feel disconcerted; if one of the behemoths were to accidentally stumble forward, both she and the Steed would be crushed under tons of weight. Three whales positioned themselves in a line to block the way.

An imposing voice boomed, "Approach, bareback rider."

Miss Ryder guided the horse towards the whale in the center who had spoken. She certainly hoped the giant creatures were sympathetic to White. Then she remembered that she was wearing the black leather bodice and miniskirt; the whales might easily mistake her for the other side. The center whale spoke again, this time echoing her thoughts.

"You're riding the White Steed," he said, "but you're dressed in black. Which side do you serve?"

The whales were mostly black in color. Miss Ryder wondered if she should lie and pretend to be on the Black side, just in case. Perhaps it didn't matter; maybe the whales were neutral. She decided it would be best to tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may. Hopefully, the Steed would be fast enough for a hasty retreat should the leviathans attack.

"I'm the White Knight," she explained, "but I'm in disguise. I may have to do some espionage work." She remembered the Steed's warning from earlier. "I hope you won't try to hang me."

The whale shrugged his flippers and shook his head. "A spy's cool in Swan Sea. Besides, I'm not a killerwhale."

"What kind of whales are you?" Miss Ryder asked.

Another one spoke up. "We're Left Whales."

"Oh, is that right?" the Steed asked.

"No, Left. Most whales are Right Whales, because they use their right flipper when they write. We write with our left, so we're Left Whales, right?"

"If you say so," Miss Ryder said, confused.

The third whale shook his head sadly. "Southfins like us have always been discriminated against."

The center whale continued, "In spite of our color, we're descendants of the Great White Whale, so that's where our allegiance lies."

Miss Ryder noticed there were seven other whales sunning themselves on the beach. "Are you all together?" she asked.

The center whale nodded. "Ten whales to the pod."

Miss Ryder judged that a phalanx of whales would make a formidable fighting force. She was glad they were on her side.

"We're looking for the White King," she declared.

"Nothing could be simpler." The whale waved a flipper. "Just continue up the coast. The King's Palace is on the sea."

"Thank you," Miss Ryder said graciously, bowing forward at the waist as a sign of respect. She twitched her foot to signal the Steed to leave, but the center whale suddenly moved closer, looming overhead.

"When the time comes," he said mysteriously, "remember that the tapestry holds the secret."

Miss Ryder furrowed her brow. "The tapestry?"

He nodded. "When the time comes."

The whales turned and retreated back to the beach with their strange, lurching gait. Miss Ryder maneuvered the Steed sideways to stay well clear of the potential topple zone. She once again called out a thanks before urging the horse down the coast at a rapid pace. Within a few minutes, they had left the Left Whales far behind.

"Strange advice," the Steed finally spoke. "I suppose we should keep our eyes peeled for a tapestry."

"Peeled?" Miss Ryder echoed. There was something familiar in the word. "What an odd figure of speech."

The horse's heels were kicking up spray as he galloped between the sand and sea under the strange yellow sky. Miss Ryder could feel the surge of the Steed's powerful muscles as her hips moved in perfect unison with his. The two of them had become one, the rhythm of his stride transmitting sensation to a yearning part deep inside her.

She wondered how long she could continue riding the Steed. Before, she had worried that it might be too painful for an extended period of time. Now, thanks to her leather garments, it seemed just as likely she couldn't endure the intense stimulation. Why did it feel so right to have the Steed firmly between her legs?

-oOo-

In the distance, a reflection of sunlight glinted off four alabaster towers perched atop a high rock promontory. A zigzag trail with switchbacks provided access from the beach to the summit.

"That must be the Castle of the White King," the Steed commented. "Just a mile or two more, and..." His voice trailed off as the landscape came into view around the curve of the coast. The beach had disappeared and the path had turned sharply inland where a large river emptied into the Swan Sea, barring their way.

"The whales made no mention of this!" exclaimed the Steed.

Miss Ryder frowned. "They would be traveling by sea, so they wouldn't think anything of a river emptying into it." She slowed the horse at the end of the narrow strip of coast. The current was too strong here; there was no way that the horse could hope to cross. She might be able to swim across herself, but that would mean abandoning her mount. Even though she had just met the Steed, she had no intention of continuing her journey without him.

A large gray boulder marked the corner between river and sea. Miss Ryder dismounted the horse, thinking that if she stood atop the rock, she might get a good look upriver to see if there was any bridge. She was just about to wedge her toes in a shallow crack in its surface when a large eye opened above it and gave her a baleful stare.

Miss Ryder jumped backward as several large tentacles started pulling up from the sand with a sucking sound. She quickly ran back to the safety of the Steed's side, out of clutching range.

"It's alive!" she cried out.

The Steed did a quick limb count. "It's a septapus!" he declared.

"Heptapus," Miss Ryder corrected, now calm.

They both could see the reason for the deficiency. There was a ragged stump where one tentacle used to be. A second eye opened next to the first, defining an almost babyish face.

"I _was_ an octopus," the large creature announced grumpily. "But that was before the accident. The horse is right; now I'm nothing more than a Septapus."

"Heptapus," Miss Ryder corrected.

"Can you imagine how difficult it is to buy sweaters?" he continued. "I always have to pin up one of the sleeves. All the squids pick on me because I'm so poorly armed."

Miss Ryder looked pitiably at the damaged limb. "How did it happen?"

"Ink explosion. I was firing across the bow of a Portuguese man-of-war when my magazine went up."

She shrugged. "So why don't you just grow another one?"

"You say that like it would work," the Septapus fired back with irritation. "Why don't you just grow another head?"

"It doesn't work that way for humans," Miss Ryder explained patiently. "But you're a cephalopod. You have the power to regenerate your appendages."

"I do?"

She nodded. "All it requires is concentration and focus."

The Septapus extended his partial arm and squinted his eyes. A faint blur enveloped the stump. Even as they watched, a new limb slowly grew forth until it was nearly the same length as the others.

"It worked!" he exclaimed. "Incredible! You should write for medical journals."

For some reason, Miss Ryder thought that just possibly, she _had_. At least there should be no danger of the heptapus blocking their way upriver after this favor.

The Septapus must have picked up on her thoughts. "It seems that now I must do something to pay you back."

She bowed. "Just tell us how we can get past this river to keep going up the coast, and we'll be on our way."

The cephalopod continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I'll have to give you a gift." There was a loud sloshing as he started rummaging through the sand. "A gift, a gift."

Miss Ryder wondered what the creature could possibly have buried away. It seemed more likely the gift would be useless, or worse, a burden. "I don't really require anything," she assured him.

"Not you. Something for your horse." He pulled a vial from the wet sand and tossed it at her with his new arm.

She caught the glass bottle in mid-air. It was filled with a glowing green liquid. She looked at the heptapus questioningly.

"It's a hoofoaccelerator," the Septapus explained. "I call it TrotFast."

Miss Ryder showed the vial to the Steed. A tattered label read "PROPELLANT 23," and below it in smaller letters, "Drink Me." The horse eyed it with suspicion.

"What's in it?" the Steed asked.

"Mostly green curry powder," the cephalopod answered, "but the ingredients are unimportant. The serum gets its properties from being exposed to the light of a full moon when the fish are running every six fortnights." The Septapus raised his tentacles proudly. "I call it the Cod Moon Effect."

The Steed sniffed at the vial. Miss Ryder patted his muzzle and turned her back to the heptapus, moving in close so that only the horse could see. She loosened the laces on her bodice and snuggled the bottle into the warm space between her breasts. "I'll keep it in here for you."

"That's a clever secret pocket," the Steed observed.

Miss Ryder murmured in the horse's ear, "It would have been more useful if he'd given us something to get across the sea."

The Steed addressed the heptapus. "Can you tell us how to continue up the coast?"

The Septapus pursed his chitinous beak. "This is the River Tweed. To cross it, you'll need to go upriver two miles."

"Is there a bridge?" asked Miss Ryder.

"No, but there's a ferry, and someone who runs it."

"Like a ferry godmother?" the Steed asked.

"No; there's a Hermit. He runs the Mercy Ferry." The heptapus was happily flexing his new limb. Miss Ryder nodded as she remounted the Steed.

"Thank you for your help," she said formally. When dealing with strange and potentially threatening creatures such as these, the value of politeness could never be underestimated. "This Hermit," she added, "is he dangerous?"

"Hard to say," the Septapus replied. "He thinks he's a poet."

-oOo-

The Steed followed a dirt trail along the bank of the river while Miss Ryder adjusted his bowler to make sure he could see the low-hanging branches as well as the roots underfoot. Off to her right, a forest formed a sylvan wall with splashes of green and red that were inappropriately-colored for normal vegetation. The air was filled with the sound of frogs croaking in a ragged harmony.

As much as the travelers would have liked to avoid the woods, the path soon gave them no choice, forcing them away from the riverbank and into the foliage. The horse picked his way between immense green spears and crimson stalks. Miss Ryder brushed her hand against nearby trunk in wonder.

"These trees... are asparagus," she observed.

"And the thickets are made of rhubarb," the Steed added. "That accounts for the unusual colors."

She nodded. "Feels like we're traveling through a vegetable platter."

"I've heard about this place," the horse said. "They say that during the rainy season, several inches of cream falls."

Miss Ryder reflexively looked up to the sky to see if any clouds were starting to clot. A single, faint rustle from the nearby rhubarb leaves brought her attention back to ground level. Sunlight reflected off a glass lens; a man was hiding in the foliage. She guided the horse over to the figure, who remained completely motionless, perhaps in the hope that this rendered him invisible. He was crouching behind one of the larger vegetables, a fork clutched in one hand.

Miss Ryder gave him a gentle smile. "Waiting for the cream to fall?"

The man was tensed for action, but he had nowhere to retreat to. "I prefer hollandaise myself," he answered coolly.

"Do you live here?" the Steed asked.

He eyed the horse suspiciously. "My home is nearby."

"No place like home for the hollandaise," the Steed quipped.

Miss Ryder smacked her bare foot into the horse's flank. "What's your name?" she asked.

The man moved with the suddenness of lightning, his hand dipping into the pocket of his rumpled coat. Miss Ryder was too slow as she reached for the whip; he had the drop on her. She found herself looking down at a cylinder of cold steel. Reluctantly, she raised her hands in surrender before realizing that it wasn't the barrel of a weapon, but a small flashlight. The man clicked on the beam and adjusted his spectacles as he peered at the strange visitors.

Miss Ryder lowered her hands and crossed her arms. "So you're the Hermit?"

The man didn't answer, just nodded his head.

"I was expecting a wise man in a hooded robe carrying a lantern, not an accounting clerk with a pocket torch," she said.

"You can't be too careful in this game," the Hermit answered. "There are the chaps in the white hats, and then there are the chaps in the black hats."

"But I'm not wearing any hat," Miss Ryder said.

"I have one," the Steed bragged.

The Hermit wrinkled his mouth. "You're wearing black, and the horse is white. You can understand my confusion." He stood up and approached the horse. "My name's Herman."

"You can call me Steed," the horse answered.

"Mr. Steed, you've got a lovely rider."

"Her name's Miss Ryder," the horse said proudly.

The Hermit led the travelers down a path to the water's edge. "You must want to ferry across."

Miss Ryder dismounted the Steed and ventured towards a large wooden raft moored on the bank. It looked sturdy enough to hold the horse. The ripples in the passing current formed a herringbone pattern. "I see now why it's called the River Tweed," she observed. "Is there any toll?"

"You'll have to listen to my latest poem," the Hermit answered.

Miss Ryder shrugged. "Sounds reasonable," she said, thinking that with such a light price, perhaps it might not be reasonable after all.

She watched the Steed step onto the raft next to her and eye her outfit admiringly. It dawned on her that since she spent most of her time mounted on the horse, he didn't get the chance to see her often; only feel her and hear her. Miss Ryder flirtatiously adjusted the rear hem of the miniskirt, knowing it was the view that would appeal to the horse the most. She allowed herself a smirk of satisfaction when the Steed exhaled an appreciative whinny.

The Hermit seemed oblivious to her charms or skimpy apparel; he simply grabbed a ten-foot pole from the soft mud and pushed away from shore. Miss Ryder momentarily clung to the hope that she would be spared the poetry reading, but knew that all was lost when she heard the Hermit clear his throat.

"I call it _The Kitten and the Doggerel_," he began.

...

A Kitten with a leather whip snuck into town to spy

When she came upon a Doggerel who blotted out the sky;

His fearsome fur, his hirsute paws, his megalithic head

Filled the minxious Kitten with a foreboding sense of dread.

...

"What's a Doggerel?" the Steed asked suddenly.

"Why, I should think the poem would make that self-evident," the Hermit retorted. "Give it time."

...

"Answer me my riddles three!" the Doggerel ingrued,

"You'll give me rightsome answers, or I'll have you for my food!"

"You can munch to viter's end," the clever Kit begun,

"But you must let me go my way if you miss my riddle one!"

...

The Hermit paused for effect. "What do you think so far?"

"Interesting," Miss Ryder said diplomatically.

The Steed gazed into the water. "The river doesn't seem so deep here. Perhaps we could ford it the rest of the way."

...

The Doggerel was hubric and loath to being beat,

"Pose your fractious puzzle and I'll soon be eating meat."

The Kitten merely licked a paw and with stylish nonchalance

Fix'd him with her twinkle-eyes and tentured this response:

...

"There was a fencing Poodle who could never be outdone,

But for a Tabby dueler who would have him on the run.

The canine struck two clicks ahead on every single thrust;

The feline moved twice as quickly, to leave him in the dust.

When clashing swords _en passant_, each would posture hard

To stab one smidgen lower—below the other's guard:

Two seconds sooner, two times faster, both steels flashing 'round;

When the two blades finally met, which was closer to the ground?"

...

"How about now?" the Hermit prompted.

The Steed frowned. "I'm not sure domesticated animals should be allowed access to sharp-edged weapons."

...

With puckered eyes and furridged brow, the Doggerel pondered deep

To examine all the data and forecipher logic's leap;

'Til like a sanguine Buddha he spread his paws apart,

And said, "The dog's blade would be lower, due to his head start!"

...

The Kitten purred, "A vaultrous choice, but the battle wasn't so;

True—one passed over, one passed under, as each dueler sought his foe.

But where the two blades finally _meet_, their height must be the same;

So of which of two was lower, you must answer neither name!"

...

The wolfsome Doggerel gnarred his teeth and groared in his dismay,

And halrued for his missing meal as the Kitten danced away.

" S' wordplay!" he protested. "You foiled me with a riposte!"

But to the wiles of that minxious Kitten, he knew that he had lost.

...

The dramatic silence was broken only by the creaking of the pole as the Hermit pushed against the current of the Tweed.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Miss Ryder hesitated, "Well... I—"

"I liked it," announced the Steed. Miss Ryder's eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh yes?" Herman asked excitedly. "Which part was best?"

"The ending," the Steed said with conviction.

"What was good about the ending?"

"The way it was so thorough, so complete, offering no possibility for a sequel or further development."

"But, I am writing a sequel!" the Hermit bubbled on. "It's called _The Anapestic Baby and the Dactylitic Pup..._"

"Oh, look!" the Steed announced pleasantly. "We've reached the other side." The raft scuffed up against the riverbank and the horse quickly scrambled off.

"Thanks for the lift!" Miss Ryder called out as she hurriedly slung herself onto the horse's back. Leaning forward, she whispered a single word into his ear.

"Gallop."

The horse and rider sped in silence along the River Tweed, not stopping until they had once again regained the seashore.

"Well," the Steed commented wryly, "at least now we know why he's a Hermit."

-oOo-


	4. Marching Orders

**Chapter 4**

The Steed's powerful muscles had managed the ascent up the promontory, though several times Miss Ryder had to hug his neck tightly to avoid being thrown due to steepness. They were now on level ground, facing two parallel rows of suits of armor with brightly-colored plumes decorating the helmets. At the end of this gauntlet stood the Castle of the White King.

"Elegant," the Steed commented.

Miss Ryder guided the horse between the rows toward the front entrance. She plucked a flower from a towering bush as they went past and tucked it behind the Steed's ear.

"We need you to be presentable for royalty," she explained.

The majestic columns on the portico gave way to a massive semicircular vault surrounded by a colonnade of archways. Miss Ryder half-expected to see a centurion guarding the palace.

"The grandeur that was Rome," the Steed mused. "The White King must be very well-to-do."

Once the travelers were past the main hall, however, the decor changed abruptly, becoming far more eclectic. Antlered bucks dotted the walls, along with the unexplained letters O and P carved from wood; there was an incongruous firepole and porcelain heads with wigs. An immense stone balcony ran the width of the room on the far end. Miss Ryder could just make out a figure standing by the railing.

As they pulled near, they could see that it was a shapely woman, clad in a diaphanous white gown with her dark hair immaculately coiffed. The Steed bowed down on one knee, nearly pitching Miss Ryder up over his neck.

"Your Highness," he said in a deep voice, with an audible flourish.

Miss Ryder tried to hold her irritation in check as she snagged the bowler before it could fall off the horse's head. Could that be a twinge of jealousy she was feeling?

"Call me Miss King," the woman said graciously.

"You're the King?" Miss Ryder asked, confused. "Then who's the Queen?"

The woman smiled. "Elizabeth the Second, of course."

Miss Ryder replaced the bowler as Miss King stepped close enough to stroke the horse's pure white neck. "What a magnificent Steed," she announced breathlessly.

"At your service, Madam," he answered.

Miss Ryder unconsciously pressed her thighs tightly into the horse's sides as if to assert her claim. _The Steed belongs to me_, she thought. Whether the horse noticed her squeezing, or the affection behind it, he gave no sign; although he had said earlier that he enjoyed the feel of her bare thighs...

The White King returned to the railing and allowed a bird to settle on her hand. The Steed moved a few hoofsteps closer, but the bird still remained calm.

_She can charm the very robins from the sky,_ Miss Ryder thought. She dismounted and joined the woman at the balcony. "We were told you could tell us how to find the Black Rook."

"Ah, _that_ man," the White King answered. "Now _there's_ a thorn in our side. Struts around the Board like he owns the place."

"Does he have a plan for victory?"

"It's all part of his game. He's trying to split the White forces down the middle so he can take over."

"Will he succeed?" the Steed ventured.

"Not in his wildest dreams. By trifling with us, he'll find he's opened himself a Pandora's box of troubles. When our White agents close in on him, he won't be able to make a getaway."

"Why haven't they apprehended him yet?"

"He controls a bizarre contraption, a weapon which makes approaching his stronghold nearly impossible."

"A doomsday apparatus?" Miss Ryder asked.

"The details are in a bit of a fog. We sacrificed a white pawn in an attempt to gather intelligence, but we had nothing to show for it the morning after."

The Steed asked, "Exactly where in his stronghold is this device, this... thingamajig located?"

"We're not really sure." The White King waited patiently until the bird flew off. "We captured two black pawns, but our interrogators couldn't get much information out of them. They probably would have been false witnesses anyway, trying to lead us astray." She returned to pet the Steed's nose lovingly.

"I've positioned the White Bishop on the fifth rank, right outside the Black Rook's stronghold, in order to surveil him," she explained. "The Bishop has been gathering intelligence for us these past several turns. They won't touch her, since she's a member of the clergy."

"The White Bishop is a she?" Miss Ryder asked.

The Steed winked. "The gender is always the opposite of what you expect."

The White King nodded. She seemed to notice Miss Ryder's outfit for the first time.

"Where did you get the black leather?"

"A Tanner in the village."

The White King's eyes panned down. "It... leaves very little to the imagination," she commented.

Miss Ryder reflexively tugged the hem of the skirt. "He claimed it was all the leather he had. Could you reimburse him?"

The woman sniffed, "I'll take it out of his unpaid poaching fines." She got a distant look on her face as she contemplated strategy, then turned to make her pronouncement.

"I'm dispatching you. Sending you out _en prise_, exposed to capture. Dressed as you are, you can pass for the Black Knight. Move through the enemy lines and make contact with the White Bishop. You can get directions to the fifth rank from my royal dogs."

"Dogs?"

"They live in the forest over there. They're called the Twin Terriers."

Miss Ryder didn't bother asking how they could give directions; she was sure they must have the power of speech, like every animal she had met today.

"They're generally honest," the White King warned. "But one of them tells lies on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; and the other lies on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday."

"What day is today?" the Steed asked.

"I'm sure I can't remember, but I think the one telling the truth today is named Piedmont."

"And these terriers live in the forest?" Miss Ryder prompted.

"They like a lot of tall trees around." When she saw Miss Ryder's knowing smirk, she added, "It's not what you think. It's because they're afraid of being struck by lightning."

"Not much danger of that today," remarked the Steed as he looked at the yellow sky.

"Take the right hand path that circles the lake," the White King instructed, slowly turning her finger. "Anti-clockwise."

-oOo-

Miss Ryder guided the horse around the body of water towards a thick stand of trees. "I didn't expect the White King to be a woman."

"I've met her Mother," the Steed declared. "A really nice chap."

"Her Mother is a man? And I suppose her Father is a woman?"

"Inevitably," the horse agreed.

Scarcely had they penetrated the edge of the forest before two small dogs with finely clipped coats accosted them. The terriers ran back and forth across the trail defiantly, as if trying to create an impassable barrier, in spite of the fact that they were only ten inches tall at the shoulder. When the Steed showed no sign of slowing, the dogs resorted to standing motionless directly in the path of the travelers.

"Halt!" cried one. "Who goes there?" challenged the other. They both stared up at what must have appeared to them to be an impossibly large horse.

"You plan to bar our way?" the Steed asked.

"We've taken down larger foes than you," one of the terriers bragged haughtily.

"Really?" the Steed replied, looming over them. He moved a step closer. The dogs backed up in tandem, looking flustered.

A smile tugged at the corner of Miss Ryder's mouth. "Remember, one of them may be lying."

"I told lies yesterday," said one of the terriers candidly.

"So did I," admitted the other.

"Then today must be Thursday," Miss Ryder announced.

"Not necessarily," said one. "Maybe it's Maundy."

"She said it was Thursday," chimed in the other.

"Right, Maundy Thursday."

"I suppose that's better than Thirsty Friday."

"Thirsty Friday?"

"The day after Maundy Thursday."

"I think you're making that up."

Miss Ryder tried to interrupt the rapid-fire aside between the dogs, but it was too late; they took off chasing each other in a rapidly contracting circle until they were locked in combat. Even if she had deduced something, there was no way to tell the two terriers apart.

"Each of you lies only half a week?" Miss Ryder interposed. "That's a crazy scheme."

The terriers separated. "Don't forget Sunday," one declared. "We always tell the truth on Sunday."

"No, we don't," said the second.

The first one continued, "Think of how many times a day you get asked a question, and you wonder 'should I lie, or tell the truth?' With us, there's no hesitation, because we have a schedule."

"But we don't have a schedule," said the other.

This led to another tussle. Miss Ryder dismounted the Steed to act as peacekeeper.

"You two quarrel too much," she scolded.

"Perhaps you're right."

"No she isn't!" the other protested.

"So we agree," the first said.

"Miss Ryder?" the Steed offered diplomatically. "My hat."

She hesitated for a second until she realized the Steed's plan. Then she removed his bowler and placed it on one of the terriers. It was so large it covered the dog's entire head except for the tip of his nose.

"This way I can tell you apart," she explained. "What's your name?" she asked the one without the hat.

"Either I'm lying today, or my name is Piedmont," said the terrier without the bowler.

"But my name is Piedmont!" said the other, muffled from under the hat.

"Aha!" Miss Ryder said, tossing her auburn hair. She addressed the dog without the hat. "If you were lying today, you could never make the statement that you were lying, because then you would be telling the truth. So you must be telling the truth today; and since you're not lying, your name must be Piedmont! Now, Piedmont—"

"Yes?" they both answered, the one answer still muffled by the hat.

"Er—you, the one named Piedmont without the hat."

"Yes?" they both answered again.

She playfully tapped the bowler. "Hey, I said the one _without_ the hat!"

"My name _is_ Piedmont, and I'm not wearing a hat!" insisted the muffled voice.

"You're lying!" Piedmont said.

Miss Ryder tried to pick up the dog without the hat, but before she could get a grip, both animals went racing off in a cloud of dust. When she finally emerged covered with dirt, she was holding a hatless terrier.

"Got you, Piedmont!" she smirked. "Wait—did the hat just get switched?"

"Yes! He put the hat on me," said the dog with the bowler.

"No, I didn't. He's been wearing that hat all along," said the one in her arms.

Miss Ryder thought for a moment, then sighed. "Dear. That doesn't tell me anything." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Wait. Are you wearing a hat?" she said to both animals.

"No," said the one in her arms.

"No," said the one with the hat.

"Excellent," Miss Ryder smiled. "Now, we can get somewhere. I'm looking to defeat the Black Rook, and to do that, I need to talk to the White Bishop. How do we find our way to the fifth rank?"

The dog named Piedmont answered from her arms. "A pawn came through the other day, hoping to catch the White Bishop off guard. I remember him saying he was looking for a moor."

The untruthful terrier had worked the bowler up so that his entire muzzle was uncovered, though his eyes were still hidden. "Ah, yes; a Moor like Othello," he announced.

"No, a moor like a landscape," the other retorted. "Or maybe he meant a moor for a boat."

The Steed looked confused. "So the fifth rank is either a barren field or a harbor?"

"Absolutely," Piedmont agreed.

"Not at all," said the other.

Miss Ryder frowned. "I'm afraid that's not much help."

"What else could possibly have 'moor' meaning?" said the terrier under the bowler.

"What could possibly have less?" countered the Steed.

"Weight," said Piedmont.

"Wait?" Miss Ryder said. "For what?"

"A heavy weight."

"A heavy wait," echoed the Steed. "Is that anything like a pregnant pause?"

"I once knew a dog with pregnant paws," the hatted terrier said.

"You lie!" said Piedmont. "No, the pawn said something about a moor, and a heavy weight."

"Anything else?" Miss Ryder asked.

"I'm afraid that's all I have."

"Well, it's something, at least," the Steed sighed.

"Good luck finding the White Bishop," Piedmont advised. "Watch out for lightning bolts!"

Miss Ryder walked over to the other terrier and took the hat. The dog underneath looked up at her with guileless eyes.

"I have every confidence you can defeat the Black Rook," he declared.

"Thank you," Miss Ryder said graciously as she put the bowler back on the Steed's head. "Hey, wait a minute..."

-oOo-

The travelers headed off in the general direction indicated by the Twin Terriers, in search of a moor. The forest was becoming sparser, with occasional clearings, but nothing to indicate what rank of the chessboard it represented. Presently they arrived at a knee-deep stream, and Miss Ryder guided the Steed straight into the middle of it.

"Scrapping around with those terriers wore me out," she announced cheerily as she slapped the dust from her leathers. She pulled the glowing green vial from her cleavage and tied it to the end of the whip. Then she slid off the horse's back into the water.

The Steed watched in amazement as she wantonly unlaced her bodice and stripped it off so that her breasts bounced free. Then she tugged off the tiny G-string and miniskirt and let them slip down to her ankles.

"What are you doing?" the Steed asked incredulously.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You don't have any clothes on!"

"Nor do you," she answered reasonably.

"I have a hat."

"I thought I could use a bath. There's no one else around, and you're of a different species. Besides, I trust you."

Miss Ryder rinsed her leathers in the stream and slung them over the horse's back. Then she stood before him, completely naked.

"You can use my hat," the Steed offered.

She removed the bowler from between the horse's ears and put it on her own head.

"Like this?" she teased. "It doesn't seem to cover much."

The Steed winked. "The crown is steel-lined. You can use it to scoop up water."

"I see."

She ventured out into water that came up to her shins. Tossing her mane of auburn hair, she turned to face away from the Steed and bent over to fill the bowler. The horse watched intently and admired her conformation; the muscles on the backs of her legs, her firm buttocks, the delicate petals between her thighs.

"You would make a fine filly, Miss Ryder."

"I know you mean that as a compliment."

The Steed stepped up beside her.

"You realize that if you kiss me, I'll turn into a handsome prince," he teased. "Then you'll be embarrassed that I saw you naked."

She leaned over and kissed the Steed on the side of his nose.

Nothing happened.

She ruffled his mane. The Steed turned his head to show her an eye that sparkled with humor.

"Can't blame a horse for trying," he said. "Imagine if I'd turned into a man wearing a suit and a bowler."

"For some reason, I don't think it would surprise me."

"So what is the conflict between you and the Black Rook?" the horse asked.

"A long-standing struggle," Miss Ryder said. "One that usually ends in hand-to-hand combat."

"You fought him physically?"

"On several occasions."

"But you're still alive."

"So is he."

"Then who won?"

"I guess it was a draw." Miss Ryder stood on tiptoe and stretched the full length of her nude body as she used the bowler to ladle water over the horse. "He's my greatest enemy," she declared.

"You won't face him alone," the Steed said resolutely. "You'll have me along."

Miss Ryder shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to take you with me when I go undercover. Your white coat will give me away."

"But I'm a chamelequine," he replied simply. Even as she watched, the horse shimmered for a moment, his coat changing to deepest black. Miss Ryder dropped the bowler in shock.

"Still want to leave me behind?" the Steed asked wryly.

Miss Ryder quickly regained her poise. "Certainly not," she said. "That's a horse of a different color." She grabbed the bowler before it had a chance to drift downstream. As she put the hat back on the horse's head, she watched again in amazement as he changed back to purest white.

"Quite a neat trick," she said. The horse knelt slightly so she could climb naked onto his back. "Now I really _do_ feel like Lady Godiva," she added.

"Who?" the Steed asked.

"Find a sunny spot where we can dry out."

"Are you sure you don't want me to gallop around?" the Steed asked. "You'll dry off faster that way."

Before she could answer, the horse took off at a spirited pace. Miss Ryder felt the surging muscles between her thighs as a pleasant sensation tickled upwards into her belly.

"S-slow down!" she stammered. The pressure on her lower body caused her voice to come out in a most undignified register. "The motion is... right there—"

The rhythm of his stride intensified and she was barely able to grab two handfuls of mane to hang on. It was as if the Steed knew about the stimulation he caused and was teasing her.

"Better?" he asked.

She couldn't answer; her mind had gone blank. The twitching in her abdomen had now become an irresistible wave, sweeping through her insides and slamming straight into the pleasure centers of her brain. Her body spasmed once, twice; she curved her back into an arch, bare breasts straining skyward. A primitive cry sounded from deep within her throat as she tightly clenched her toes.

"Stee-e-ed!"

Then she slumped forward, panting. Naive, oblivious horse. Completely unaware of the effect he had on her. The Steed slowed to a high-stepping, almost celebratory trot. Perhaps he wasn't so unaware, after all.

"Dry yet?" the Steed asked playfully.

"Just find a sunny patch," Miss Ryder managed to gasp out. She steadied herself and regained her breath.

"We can look at the clouds," she added wistfully. _And try to think of a way to turn you into a human..._

-oOo-


	5. The Spying Cleric

**Chapter 5**

A pawn clad in black chain mail moved quickly in the afternoon sun under a yellow sky. The forest provided perfect cover for reaching the fourth rank. He detected a flicker of motion on the path ahead; the pawn ducked behind a tree, ready for a diagonal capture of the white piece when it passed by. His eyes must have deceived him; he blinked twice and stood in awe at an approaching jet black horse. Its rider was even more imposing—a beautiful auburn-haired woman in a black leather bodice and a leather miniskirt that did nothing to hide her perfect legs.

The Black Knight! He bowed as she rode by, noticing the leather whip draped in a loose coil around the horse's neck, imagining what the dangerous warrior woman might be capable of with it. With such forces on their side, how could Black lose?

-oOo-

Miss Ryder leaned forward and gave the Steed's ears a caress. "Good thing your hearing's as sensitive as my rapidly bruising backside."

"I'm trying to tread more lightly," the Steed teased back. "Do you think the Black Pawn saw me do the color change?"

"Judging from the way the he was bowing and scraping, I'd say he was completely fooled."

The Steed shimmered and changed back to his original color. "In case we meet any friendly pieces, at least one of us should show White," he explained.

"Agreed, at least until we've met with the White Bishop. Do you have any other secrets you're keeping, besides being a chamelequine?"

"I always have secrets, Miss Ryder—"

The Steed came to a sudden stop at the sight of a large metal object revealed between the trees. It was a broad ship's anchor, fifteen feet tall. Miss Ryder followed his gaze.

"A heavyweight moor?" she observed wryly.

"Unless there's a fat Saracen hanging about."

She nodded. "We must have reached the fifth rank."

The Steed passed solemnly by the landmark. "Keep your eyes peeled for any sign of the White Bishop," he advised.

_There's that word again,_ she thought. _Peeled..._

They came to a small vertical sign mounted on a picket alongside the trail. Miss Ryder looked at the text quizzically.

"FINE WOOD SLATS," she read aloud.

As the Steed rounded a curve, another sign came into view.

"AND A STURDY SAIL," he said.

Two more signs became visible as the horse trotted around the bend.

"WILL HELP YOU WEATHER," Miss Ryder continued.

"THE STRONGEST GALE," the Steed completed.

They read the last sign aloud in unison. "BURMA STAVE."

"A shipping lumber advertisement," the Steed mused. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Things certainly seem to have gotten nautical all of a sudden," Miss Ryder commented.

"Except there's no water around. We're in the middle of a forest," remarked the horse.

"Not for long," she said. "There's a clearing up ahead."

The trees gave way to a wildflower-strewn field. A Gothic structure with a lofty tower stood inexplicably in the middle of the plain, as if plunked down by an invisible hand. The horse trotted nearer, and Miss Ryder could see sunlight reflecting off stained glass.

"It's a cathedral!"

"That spire's no bell-tower," said the Steed. "It's a lighthouse."

Miss Ryder frowned in thought. "What purpose could a lighthouse serve without a sea?"

"Perhaps it's symbolic, like the Holy Sea," the horse suggested.

"The White Bishop must be inside," Miss Ryder concluded. "I'll bet this is where she keeps an eye on the Black Rook, from the lighthouse gallery."

"I've heard of this church," the Steed said. "It's St. Marvin's-in-the-Fields. It's a Maritime Sailor's Cathedral."

"I thought that Elmo was the patron saint of sailors."

"He had a lesser-known brother, Marvin. Drowned in a punting accident while trying to retrieve a lady's parasol. Canonized on the spot."

The horse awkwardly lurched sideways to avoid something in the low brush. An indignant meow sounded from below.

Miss Ryder peered at the ground. "There's a cat," she said. "And not alone. There's several more..."

The Steed altered his course. "Perhaps Old Possum lives here." Another meow split the air, invoking a chorus from the nearby grass.

"Watch where you're stepping," Miss Ryder chided.

"How can I? There's cats abundant!"

Several of the cats took off running towards the church.

"They must be the White Bishop's pets," Miss Ryder declared.

"Or her spies," the horse corrected.

True enough; the cats had entered the cathedral through a small, ornate door and were clearly engaged in meowing a report to someone inside.

"We'll be expected," the Steed warned.

As the horse went up the front stairs, the tall cathedral doors mysteriously opened. Miss Ryder guided the Steed directly into the nave. Instead of pews, the center aisle was flanked by tall bookcases; in the spot where there would normally be an altar there was a large mahogany desk. Several cats were lined up in a row on its surface.

"Is this a church, or a library?" the Steed asked.

Miss Ryder read the titles of some nearby books as they passed. They were all historical and scientific texts. "The White Bishop must be a scholar."

The cats scattered from the desk to reveal a seated blonde woman dressed in a white ecclesiastical robe. As the woman rose to greet the visitors, she shrugged off her outer garment to reveal a form-fitting white velvet leotard that was low-cut enough to reveal ample cleavage.

Miss Ryder recalled that the White King had also boasted a substantial bosom; it seemed to be a quality that all the white pieces had. She absently tugged at the laces on her own bodice, then wrinkled her mouth at her own insecurity. After all, it wasn't a competition.

The White Bishop stood directly in front of the Steed with her hands on her hips and looked up at his rider.

"So you're the White Knight," she said wryly.

"Pursuing the Black Rook," Miss Ryder answered as she inclined her head in respect.

The woman took in the black leather and nodded her approval. "You're certainly dressed to kill." Then she turned her attention to the Steed and added teasingly to the horse, "Though _you_ look like you've been put through the wringer."

The Steed brushed aside her taunt. "Pleased to met you, my Lord," he said suavely. The horse bowed down on one knee, just as he had for the other White pieces. Miss Ryder was ready this time, squeezing her legs together to avoid losing her balance and grabbing the Steed's bowler with one hand before it fell.

The White Bishop patted the Steed on the side of the nose. "Well, aren't we a charmer?" she lilted. Miss Ryder once again felt a twinge of jealousy.

The cleric addressed her. "You have your work cut out for you, taking on the Black Rook. He's been going around disguised as the White Rook, discovering all our secrets."

Miss Ryder arched an eyebrow. "A double agent?"

The White Bishop nodded. "Like a man with two shadows. He's an assassin and a spy."

"What about the Black King?" the Steed asked.

"Just a puppet. The Black Rook is the big thinker, the one controlling all the pieces."

"Any intel from the nearby village folk?"

"They won't even speak to me," the White Bishop declared.

"Afraid of what the Rook might do to them?"

"Bullseye. It's a virtual conspiracy of silence."

"Little wonder," the Steed commented.

"How do you get your information?" asked Miss Ryder.

The White Bishop ruffled the fur on a nearby tabby. "People may not talk to strangers, but they'll always talk to a cat." She shrugged, and her blonde hair swirled. "I guess that's the story in a nutshell. What's your plan?"

Miss Ryder pursed her lips. "Covert infiltration."

"Ah, I see. A one-woman Trojan horse." The cleric patted the horse's muzzle again. "Though a Black Knight on a White Steed might have a difficult time getting in."

The Steed said nothing, just shimmered and changed to darkest black, then made a noise that could have been an audible smirk.

The White Bishop was clearly impressed. "Aren't we full of surprises today," she said. "A regular little espionage equine. You'll want to stay that way if you're hoping to go in undercover."

She turned to Miss Ryder. "Follow me up to the gallery."

Miss Ryder dismounted and followed the White Bishop through an archway directly into the connected lighthouse. As they walked together up the steps, they heard the clip-clop of the Steed following. Luckily, the stone staircase supported his weight.

"Does he follow you everywhere?" the White Bishop asked, amused.

"We seem to have formed a connection," Miss Ryder explained.

Neither woman seemed concerned that the Steed was getting a prime view of the white velvet leotard and the skimpy black leather outfit; in fact, a bystander might have thought they strode rather flirtatiously up the stairs. On reaching the lamp gallery, they both went to the railing, with the horse nosing in between them.

The White Bishop pointed to the south. "There's the stronghold." She indicated a sprawling, gated compound dominated in the center by a dark tower that resembled a giant chesspiece rook.

"The White King mentioned a secret weapon," said Miss Ryder.

The White Bishop nodded. "They were building it for weeks."

"Can we see it from here?"

"Not unless you have second sight. No one's ever seen it, including me. Or, rather, anyone that _has_ ever seen it has never returned."

"What's that building in front of it?" the Steed asked.

"A heavily-fortified Lodging-House called Cranberry Row."

In the far distance, they could see a man in black walking the parapet of the Dark Tower. Even without being able to see his face, Miss Ryder recognized him instantly by his manner.

"That's him," she said with certainty. "That's the Lodger."

"I thought it was pronounced Lodyer," the Steed commented.

-oOo-

The Steed was grazing in the field outside St. Marvin's Church, intently watching his companion. Miss Ryder was practicing martial arts against an invisible opponent.

She had removed her miniskirt; at first the Steed thought she might have found it too restricting, but then he realized that she had taken it off to use the leather lace from its closure to tie her reddish hair back into a ponytail. This left her wearing nothing below the waist but the flimsy leather G-string; she might have been self-conscious about appearing that way in front of the Steed if they hadn't already shared a bath together.

Miss Ryder's workout consisted of static, balanced poses followed by sudden lightning-fast moves: snap kicks, palm thrusts, forehand chops, backhand slaps, and stinging strikes using her elbows and knees. Hard to believe that the Black Rook could withstand such attacks— Miss Ryder's entire body was a weapon. Yet, when she stood still, she radiated the elegance of a princess.

After nearly a quarter hour, when her moves had been honed to perfection, she cooled down in the shade of a nearby tree. The Steed trotted over and watched as she picked a large apple.

"You certainly take your practice seriously," the Steed said.

Miss Ryder fed him the fruit. "It pays to be to be prepared."

"So you're planning to confront the Black Rook head on?"

"Precisely. I'll defeat him in hand-to-hand combat," she said resolutely.

"If you've never succeeded before, what will be different this time?"

"While I was practicing, I remembered a special fighting technique I learned. I can't recall being very successful at reproducing it, but I'm sure it could defeat the Black Rook. The goal is to strike all five of the major nerve plexuses in a specific, rapid sequence. It's called a Whirlwind Kick. It targets the solar, abdominal, groin, neck, and lumbar plexuses."

The Steed winced and instinctively moved his rear hoofs closer together. "Groin plexus?"

Miss Ryder couldn't help a subtle smirk. "While the Whirlwind Kick will incapacitate an adversary long enough to make good an escape, that's not our ultimate goal; we hope to conquer and capture. For that, I need to execute a move called the Hurricane Kick."

"That sounds positively devastating."

Miss Ryder nodded. "After executing a Whirlwind Kick starting from one foot, you must complete the move on your opposite foot and execute a _mirror image_ Whirlwind Kick, in reverse symmetry. The combined effect sends a shock wave through the nervous system of your opponent, resulting in temporary but complete paralysis of the limbs. Your foe can't move his arms or legs, can't hold a weapon, can't escape. He is completely at your mercy."

"How long does this paralysis last?"

"I don't know. I've never successfully performed a Hurricane Kick. But I remember being told by my _sensei_ that it could last up to fifteen minutes."

"More than enough time to capture the Black Rook!" the Steed exclaimed.

"But it can only work if I get close to him. That's where our discreet, undercover infiltration comes into play."

The White Bishop came out of the cathedral, a small scrap of paper in her hand. "Discussing strategy?" she asked the two of them.

"Miss Ryder plans to kick the Black Rook in a variety of places," the Steed explained.

The White Bishop grinned. "I'm sure he won't be able to take that for very long." She showed them her hand-drawn sketch. "Here's a rough map of the area around Cranberry Row. Once you get through the outer fence using any of these portals, here, you still have to pass through the main gate at the Dark Tower. That's the difficult one, guarded by Pawns. You may have to fight your way in."

"She's certainly ready for that!" the Steed said cheerily.

Miss Ryder had taken down her ponytail and was threading the lace back through the miniskirt. "I hope to avoid any confrontation until I face the Black Rook. We need to be as sneaky as possible."

"In that case, I wish you both the best of clandestine luck."

Miss Ryder lifted an eyebrow as the White Bishop kissed the horse on the side of his nose.

-oOo-

The Steed peeked around the corner of a building in the center of town. He was now pitch black in color. Miss Ryder was on foot next to him and poked her head around as well in a swirl of auburn hair. Both of them watched vassals come and go through the main entrance of Cranberry Row.

"The portal's heavily guarded," the Steed observed, "and they're checking everyone's papers. But if you can convince them you're the Black Knight, I'm sure they'll let you pass."

Miss Ryder shook her head. "I want to enter unnoticed. I don't want anything to tip off the Black Rook until it's too late for him to escape. If they didn't buy my story, we'd lose the element of surprise."

"Then there's only one thing for it," the Steed said. "I'll have to jump the fence." They turned their heads in unison toward the sturdy wooden barricade that enclosed the Black Rook's compound.

Miss Ryder looked doubtful. "That's nearly twelve feet high."

"Perhaps if I had a running start," the Steed hinted, "trotting _really_ fast..."

Miss Ryder snapped her fingers. "Of course. The TrotFast hoofoaccelerator." She loosened her bodice and pulled out the glowing vial that was still warm from being nestled between her breasts. She wasn't sure how much to give the horse, but the bottle was small enough that she decided she better give him all of it. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she decanted the contents into her cupped left hand and offered it to him.

"Here you go, Steed."

The horse's rough tongue on her soft palm sent a pleasant shiver through her body. Miss Ryder felt her nipples strain urgently against the thin leather bodice and she pressed her legs tightly together. The memory of the fierce stimulation she experienced earlier was still reverberating between her thighs.

The Steed's black coat intensified with an obsidian glow, like finely polished onyx. A visible aura surrounded his hooves and haunches.

"I think it's working," he said.

"I think you're right," she agreed.

"Then mount up and hold on tight," the Steed advised. "Feel free to squeeze my flanks as firmly as you want with your thighs. Try not to cry out so... fervidly when I jump," he teased.

Miss Ryder wrinkled her mouth. "I was completely naked when you took off galloping last time. Warn me before you do anything so... vigorous," she answered back. "Besides, I'm wearing my leathers now." _Though they're so flimsy they do precious little to insulate me from the pounding rhythm of your stride,_ she thought.

As if he read her mind, the horse circled back thirty feet and took off at a dead run towards the fence. Miss Ryder clutched his mane for dear life and pressed her legs into his massive chest. Less than ten feet away, they seemed certain to crash when the Steed suddenly sprang upward in a prodigious vault.

The horse seemed to float on air for a moment, like a winged Pegasus in flight. Miss Ryder couldn't help breaking into a lilting laugh.

"You're fantastic, Steed!"

The horse landed gracefully on the other side with each of his four hooves touching solidly in succession, and he continued down the path without even so much as breaking stride. Miss Ryder stroked his neck in congratulation.

"We should have no trouble making it to the Dark Tower now," she beamed.

Suddenly, a gleaming steel lance dropped down to bar their way. The Steed scuffed to a stop and cast his eyes down its length to a figure hidden in the shade of a tree.

A flat voice sounded from the darkness, addressing Miss Ryder in a tone laced with disdain.

"So you're the Black Knight."

"Yes," Miss Ryder countered imperiously, "I am the Black Knight. What's it to you?"

A man wearing glossy black armor astride an ebony charger moved out from the shadows to block the path. Beneath his drooping moustache he wore a cold smile.

"So am I."

-oOo-


	6. The Black Knight

**Chapter 6**

The Steed slowly backed away from the enemy lance, but it remained leveled at Miss Ryder's midsection, its point aimed at her completely exposed and beautifully-shaped navel. He could feel her thighs squeezing his flanks as she prepared for action. The armored warrior blocking the path urged his mount forward as he bore down on the intruders.

"_I_ am the Black Knight," he proclaimed.

"Fancy that," Miss Ryder said, not skipping a beat. "We're on the same side." She gave him a sweet, innocent smile and raised her palm in greeting. "Hail, brother Knight."

The Black Knight was having none of that. The tip of his lance did not waver as he herded them towards the field next to the path.

"I'm a Knight of Great Britain," he boasted, indicating the "KGB" monogram above the sword and shield emblem on his breastplate.

Miss Ryder smirked. "I doubt that. A double agent, more likely."

He pretended not to hear. "By the Knight's Code, I must see to it that you're armed." He gestured towards a nearby steel lance stuck point first into the ground; a small breastplate hung from its handle. The cuirass had a detachable round shield about a foot in diameter. The field had been set up as a makeshift jousting yard, with a low fence running down the middle as a tilt barrier.

The Steed retreated over to the armor. "You'd better put it on," he advised Miss Ryder under his breath.

"What? I'm not prepared to do battle on horseback!" she answered in a harsh whisper.

"You didn't think you could impersonate the Black Knight without the real one coming to hear of it?" the horse asked wryly.

"Actually, yes; I did. I thought the real Black Knight had been removed from the board."

"Apparently only one of them."

They watched the Black Knight move to the far end of the list.

"We could just run away," the Steed offered. "I feel like I could gallop _really_ fast after taking that potion."

Miss Ryder shook her head. "He'd go straight to the Black Rook and warn him. Besides, if you're as fast and powerful as you say, can't we defeat him with this?" She pulled the lance from the ground and tested its weight.

"These weapons are steel, not wood. One of you could end up dead," the Steed cautioned. "What do you know about jousting?"

"Stay on—good; fall off—bad?" she ventured.

"Falling off isn't as bad as the alternative of having a hole through one's torso. If it looks like he's going to strike, jump off."

"Then I lose?"

"He'll likely pursue you on foot with his sword. You can outrun him since he's in full armor, but any hope of entering the Black Rook's stronghold in disguise will be shot, even if you can meet back up with me."

"Then you'll just have to see to it that we win," Miss Ryder affirmed. "Is the hoofoaccelerator still working? How long will it last?"

"Only one way to find out."

The Steed waited while she donned the armor. The Black Knight's chivalry had its limits; the breastplate was so brief as to scarcely cover her bosom, leaving her midriff still bare. The shield seemed sturdy enough, but the diameter was such that absolute precision would be needed to deflect a thrust. The armor wasn't even heavy enough to unbalance her when she remounted.

As the Steed galloped towards the near end of the list, Miss Ryder wrinkled her mouth in dismay. The pleated miniskirt was flapping wildly over her hips, and the tiny leather triangle tucked between her thighs was hardly adequate protection. The Tanner's garments were going to be far too breezy and delicate for a high-speed battle, particularly one where sharp points were involved.

The Black Knight raised his lance in salute. "May thy shield chip and shatter!" he shouted ritualistically.

"Chip and shatter?" muttered the Steed. "What's it made of, plastic?"

Miss Ryder smacked the barrel of her lance against her shield with a resounding ring.

"May thy lance bend and break!" she shouted back. The Steed winced and moved his rear legs closer together at the taunting innuendo. Miss Ryder raised her shield to indicate her readiness.

The Steed took his position at the starting mark on the other side of the fence. In a low voice, grim with determination, he encouraged Miss Ryder.

"Prove that you're more woman than he is man, and unhorse him."

With her thighs hugging the Steed's middle and her lower body pressed firmly against his back, she said, "Count on it."

The dark charger thundered forward as the Black Knight aimed his lance just across the tilt fence. Suddenly the Steed took off as well, and Miss Ryder tried to match her opponent's moves, leveling her own lance a few inches over the barrier.

She felt the Steed's acceleration deep in her belly and an irresistible wave of pleasure welled up inside her. _This is no time to be stimulated!_ she thought. But beneath the breastplate and leather, once again her nipples were swollen to the point of absolute rigidity. What caused such fierce arousal? Was it the Steed, or the fight? Or was it fighting _alongside_ the Steed?

Less than twelve feet separated the horses when the Black Knight abruptly shifted his weapon to change the attack angle. Miss Ryder tried to counter with the same, but the inertia of the heavy steel made her response sluggish and inaccurate. She suddenly realized that she had misjudged badly; her opponent was much more adept at handling the lance, and she was doomed, with insufficient time to react.

The Steed sensed her need, and at the exact moment of impact, he juked sideways in a blur of motion so that her shield was at the perfect deflection angle. The enemy's point made glancing contact and bounced harmlessly off the surface, while Miss Ryder's lance found only air, missing everything.

The Black Knight was momentarily startled by the last-second speed of his opponent's horse; then he shook his head in disbelief. "You won't be able to dodge another one of those," he smirked.

The horses turned at the end of the list to begin the second pass. Miss Ryder practiced hefting the lance, determined not to get caught off guard again.

The Steed advised, "I'll take care of the defense; you just focus on knocking him off his mount."

"Right." Miss Ryder leaned forward over his mane and carefully positioned her weapon.

Neither horse hesitated as they rocketed towards each other at full gallop with their shoulders brushing the barrier fence. The Black Knight kept his lance low and loose in his hand, confident that he could snap it into position at the last possible moment and gain the element of surprise, giving the Steed no time to adjust.

As the horses met, the Black Knight chose a sudden attack angle. Miss Ryder saw the steel point aimed directly at her chest and realized she had made another catastrophic miscalculation. What was it the Steed had said? _If he looks like he's going to strike, jump off._ She didn't want to leave the protection of the Steed. Weren't they invincible together?

In an effortless display of maneuverability, the Steed leaned so far that he nearly tilted sideways, causing the Black Knight's thrust to go wide. Miss Ryder saw her opportunity and angled her point outward to rake across the fence. The barrel of her lance made partial contact with the Black Knight's armored torso; in his panic he almost dropped his shield.

As the jousters completed the pass, the Black Knight was clearly unnerved. He gave his opponents begrudging respect.

"Incredible," he said. "Battling you two is like facing a centaur. You must have been together for a long time."

"Actually, we just met this morning," Miss Ryder said breezily. The Steed finished, "But we complement each other very well."

The Black Knight frowned. "We'll finish this with one pass."

"Agreed," said Miss Ryder. Now that she knew the Steed's capabilities were nearly unlimited, she could attack without restriction.

Both horses stood motionless at opposite ends of the list. Both riders raised their lances in salute.

"Now!" shouted the Black Knight.

The horses took off with such rapid acceleration that their legs were a blur. This time, Miss Ryder held her lance underslung and relaxed, waiting for her opponent to commit first.

The Black Knight finally took aim. This was what she was waiting for; Miss Ryder anticipated the Steed's reaction, aiming her lance out into empty air such that when the Steed moved into the perfect defense position against the Black Knight, her point would make direct contact.

The Steed jittered furiously through space, phasing in and out as if jumping between dimensions. When the horse finally materialized in place, Miss Ryder saw the Black Knight's eyes widen in uncertainty and alarm. The next thing she felt was the shock of contact through her weapon grip.

Her lance split the Black Knight's shield in two and powered on through, carrying him bodily from his horse and tossing him to the ground a dozen yards away. She reeled off-balance with the force of her thrust, but stayed seated with her legs clamped solidly around the Steed. The Black Knight was motionless. With the sudden realization that she had reached the climax and won, Miss Ryder collapsed onto the horse's mane, gasping from exertion. She dropped her shield and lance and wrapped her arms around his neck for support, stimulated almost beyond all capacity to think or breathe.

_The Steed is amazing, magnificent!_ she marveled. _If only he could take human form..._ With all the strange things she had seen since that morning, perhaps there was some wizard who could transform him. As a man, the Steed might still find that he enjoyed her warm, bare thighs.

The horse was in high spirits, as well.

"You're one-hundred-percent woman, Miss Ryder," the Steed said glowingly. "That'll teach him to pick on the White Knight."

She leaned forward and kissed the side of his muzzle. "I couldn't have done it without you." Then she dismounted, her legs still wobbly from the intense confrontation. She walked over and examined the prone form of the Black Knight. He was out cold.

"He'll live," she announced. "Might have a whale of a headache tomorrow, though."

"Take his breastplate and visor," the Steed suggested. "It has the official coat-of-arms of the Black Knight. We may be able to use it to get past the Gatekeeper in front of the Dark Tower."

Miss Ryder contemplated the KGB emblem. "Good idea." She stripped the armor from the fallen rider, leaving him embarrassingly in something that resembled long underwear.

The black charger had already wandered away from the battle site and was grazing in the field. Miss Ryder removed his reins and used them to tie up the Black Knight.

As she donned the spoils of combat, she smiled. Finally, a breastplate that actually covered her navel. There was a half helmet with a brim to hide her auburn hair, as well. She eyed the saddle on the enemy horse and unconsciously dipped her hand below her waist to touch herself through the thin leather. No; she had made it this far riding the Steed bareback, and she wanted nothing to come between them.

Miss Ryder returned to the horse's side and patted his nose. "I hope all the commotion didn't alert the Black Rook," she said as she remounted the Steed. "We don't want him escaping."

The horse neighed with delight. "I hope my TrotFast doesn't wear off soon."

-oOo-

On the parapet of the Dark Tower, a Pawn looked down onto the rolling field in front of the main gate. A horse and rider were approaching at a fast gallop. A cry came up from the Gatekeeper, "The Black Knight has returned!" The Pawn echoed it to his superior a few feet away.

"Sir? The Black Knight has returned."

The Black Rook turned and observed the path with ice-blue eyes, his face uncovered and his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. There was no need to wear the chessboard mask among his own forces; he only had to hide his identity from White pieces. He pulled out a gold pocketwatch and checked the time. The inscription inside the case seemed to hold his attention for a moment.

"Right on schedule," he said. "Let's see how the Knight fares after his battles."

A partial helmet hid the Knight's face, and he seemed to have lost the lower half of his armor. The only thing visible below the cuirass was a short Roman-style leather battle skirt. His noble black charger was striding effortlessly through the gate. Nothing out of the ordinary. Or was there? Curious that there was no saddle. The Black Rook frowned.

"Bring me some field glasses."

The Pawn quickly fetched them. The Black Rook looked through the binoculars, examining the returning warrior. He checked the KGB symbol emblazoned on the front of the armor.

"Well, that's certainly the Black Knight's breastplate," he said.

As the horse galloped along, the leather skirt flapped up over the figure's hips, revealing what was underneath. The Black Rook set the zoom to maximum and focused below the waist. A tiny leather triangle was stretched taut between the rider's legs. The distinct groove in its form-fitting outline left no doubt as to the gender of its wearer.

"A good disguise," the Rook smiled, "but the real Black Knight doesn't have thighs that are quite that luscious." He turned to the Pawn.

"Prepare a welcome."

-oOo-

Nearly a mile separated the fence at the lodging-house from the gate of the black stone tower. The Steed hurried down the path, hoping to avoid any more chance encounters with enemy forces. Miss Ryder wasn't used to wearing a helmet, and her head looked like it was on a swivel as she surveyed the landscape, watching for trouble.

Looming nearly eight stories tall in front of them was the Dark Tower. The notched castellations along the roof gave it the appearance of a giant chesspiece rook. A spiked steel barrier a dozen feet tall encircled the keep at a radius of about a hundred yards. The guard at the front gate wore a black silk hood, like an executioner; this resemblance was boosted by the large battle-axe that rested casually on his left shoulder.

Miss Ryder held her breath as they approached, waiting for the Gatekeeper to take a wicked swing at them with his blade. If the Steed's potion was still working, he could probably elude the strike and save her from harm, but it would mean that they had lost the element of surprise. The Gatekeeper let them pass with a simple nod.

"So far, so good," the Steed said. "The Black Knight's armor is working."

Miss Ryder stole a quick glance at the top of the tower. The Black Rook was standing on the parapet, checking a gold pocketwatch.

"There's bad luck," she whispered back to the Steed. "The Rook himself is on the tower."

"Don't look so concerned. You're the Black Knight, remember?"

Miss Ryder studied the cylindrical castle. The outer surface was covered with narrow windows and battlements that could easily hide scores of archers.

"How many soldiers do you think that thing holds?" she asked.

The Steed read her mind. "Arrows could rain down on us at any moment. Keep your shield high," he advised. "Remember Agincourt."

As she moved her shield to a more protective angle, Miss Ryder saw the glint of sunlight off a glass lens at the top of the tower.

"He's looking at us with binoculars," she said.

"Try to be nonchalant," the Steed replied.

"He's saying something to his lackey."

"Maybe you should wave."

Miss Ryder decided that a jaunty wave would be very un-knightly. Instead, she raised her lance in salute.

Even as she did so, the taped grip suddenly became too hot to hold, and she instinctively dropped it to the ground. A split second later, there was a blinding flash and her shield was blasted from her hand.

"What?" she cried.

A charred spot on the nearby ground sizzled.

"Something's wrong," she warned the horse.

The Steed hazarded a look upwards. "Lightning bolts are coming from the top of the tower!"

"The terriers were right!" Miss Ryder exclaimed.

"I think I saw this on a tarot card." The Steed grunted with exertion as he accelerated to battle speed. "This was the secret weapon the White King warned us about!"

Miss Ryder pressed her body flat to the horse's back to present less of a target. "The White Bishop said that no one had ever seen it, and lived," she said grimly.

"First time for everything," the Steed said cheerily.

Another bolt blasted the earth near them. This time, they could hear the crack immediately after the flash. Only the horse's reflexes, as fast as the lightning itself, saved them.

"The steel breastplate is attracting them!" the Steed shouted. "Take it off!"

She hurled it to the ground just as a bolt blasted it into molten metal.

"The helmet as well," the horse urged. Miss Ryder pulled it off and threw it as far as she could; even as it left her hand, a tendril of electricity sought it out and followed it all the way down.

She had once again been reduced to wearing nothing but her leather bodice and miniskirt, and was completely unarmed save for the leather whip. At least she still had the Steed between her legs; that was enough to boost her confidence and keep fear at bay.

"We're being driven inside," the Steed observed.

"Good," Miss Ryder said resolutely. "That was my plan all along. Besides, we can't tarry about out here; we'll get barbecued."

They reached the Dark Tower's large wooden door. The severity of the angle to the roof gave them a temporary respite from the lightning generator.

"It's undoubtedly a trap," the Steed persisted. "He expects you to go upstairs alone."

"True. But you can't follow me inside of a nearly-vertical building," she said reasonably.

"If I were an ordinary horse, you would be correct. But I'm an extraordinary chamelequine with a bloodstream full of hoofoaccelerator."

The door in front of them burst open. Inside, a line of three spherical black helmets marked enemy chesspieces. They were fully armed for attack.

"Pawns!" the Steed exclaimed.

-oOo-


	7. The Dark Tower

**Chapter 7**

The row of Black Pawns formed a seemingly impenetrable barrier across the entrance to the Dark Tower. With a sudden blur, the Steed was through them and standing on the stone floor inside. Miss Ryder grinned.

"I think you're getting faster."

"That might mean the potion is about to wear off," the Steed warned.

The Pawns whirled and brandished their longswords. For a few seconds it was an all-out melee, with the horse phasing in and out as he moved quickly to various spots around the room, always out of reach of an enemy blade. Miss Ryder clung on for dear life, her auburn hair flailing with every maneuver.

The Steed spoke to her under his breath. "I can only elude them for so long in these cramped quarters. Do you have a plan?"

She fake-whispered back into his ear, "Not yet."

"It's impossible to use a whip to defeat three armed warriors," he reminded her.

"Agreed," she said. "When in doubt, the only choice is mayhem."

"Mayhem?"

"Like this." Miss Ryder removed the lash from around the horse's neck and gripped the handle, letting it unfurl to the ground. When the horse materialized near the wall, she snapped the whip around the support rope for the overhead chandelier. With a sharp tug, she pulled the rope loose and sent the large metal structure crashing down in the center of the room. The Pawns scattered in panic, one of them getting caught beneath the falling frame. Miss Ryder snapped her whip again, this time around a wooden column that sent a storage loft careening to the floor, spilling sacks of grain on top of the enemy.

"You're rather good with mayhem," the Steed observed.

"Who knew?" she smiled.

Taking advantage of the few seconds delay while the Pawns were freeing themselves, Miss Ryder surveyed the room. A stone staircase along the outer wall led upwards into the tower, as well as a motorized rope-drawn wooden elevator placed in front of it. The lifting platform looked sturdy enough to hold both her and the Steed, but the Black Rook was undoubtedly waiting at the top, and they would be sitting ducks if they arrived that way. The stairs were the better option, provided the horse could negotiate them.

"Can you make it up the stairs?"

"Do I have a choice?" the Steed asked.

"We could take the elevator up into an ambush."

"The stairs it is, then."

He had no problem bounding up the stairs two at a time, though Miss Ryder had to squeeze her legs to nearly crack his ribs just to stay mounted. Shields, weapons, and other artifacts lined the inner walls of the tower; as the Steed galloped past them, Miss Ryder used her whip to tear them from the walls and send them tumbling down. In no time she had an avalanche blocking the path behind. The Pawns quickly lost ground, and from the noise and swearing, one may have tripped and bounced all the way to the bottom in his armor.

Within a minute the Steed had gained the top of the tower. There was a heavy steel gate and wooden barricade designed to protect the summit from attack below; Miss Ryder dismounted and quickly dropped these into place to keep the Pawns at bay while she dealt with the Black Rook.

The tower chamber commanded a view of Cranberry Row in every direction. The Black Rook was nowhere to be seen; he must still be on the roof, she thought. She had just thrown the lever to hoist up the elevator platform so the Pawns couldn't use it when she saw the large tapestry on the wall.

The Steed trotted over next to her as they both tried to decipher the wall hanging.

"Remember what the whales said," he remarked. "The tapestry holds the secret."

"But what secret?" she asked. "The Alps?"

"Snow? Mountain goats?" the Steed ventured.

Horse and rider were so absorbed in the imagery they almost failed to notice the masked figure in glossy black armor descending the stairs from the roof.

"You've finally arrived," he said smoothly. "I've been watching you from afar as you approached my demesne."

"Try not to sound so superior," Miss Ryder countered. "I think you'll find that you're trapped up here."

"You're mistaken. You are the one who's trapped. I went back up on the roof to encourage you to lock yourself in. I was actually watching your skirmish from the lift shaft." He pointed to the wooden platform they had just winched up, then addressed the Steed. "I saw how you moved through my Pawns. You're on an equine enhancer, eh? Well, it'll wear off soon enough."

The Black Rook stood directly in front of them and removed his chessboard mask.

Miss Ryder raised her brow in shock at the sight of his face. It was familiar to her, somehow, yet totally alien in its malevolence. Those emotionless ice-blue eyes. She knew she had seen them before.

The Black Rook didn't hesitate as he produced a semi-automatic pistol and aimed it at her. She wrinkled her mouth. A gun, amid all this medieval weaponry? She stood before him with her hands on her hips, loosely holding her whip.

"I'm here to capture you," she announced. "My name's Miss Ryder."

He steadily shook his head. "No, it isn't."

She ignored his denial. "You can call me the White Knight, if you prefer." To emphasize her point, the Steed shimmered for a moment as he changed back to purest white.

"You're not a Knight any more," the Rook said. "I changed all that."

"You haven't defeated me yet."

He gave her an evil smile. "One day, we'll be together, you and I."

Miss Ryder snorted. "Not likely."

"You say that now, but in the future, things will be different."

"Your future ends _here_," Miss Ryder proclaimed firmly as she reared back and cracked her whip forward. The leather strap smacked loudly as it knocked the gun from the Black Rook's hand. With lightning reflexes, he grabbed the end of the lash with his other fist and yanked.

"All I have to do is separate you from that Steed," he said.

Before she could let go of the whip handle, she found herself tossed to the far side of the room. The Black Rook followed and pressed a secret switch, dropping a massive iron gate to barricade the Steed from reaching them; undoubtedly a second line of defense for the tower chamber, should enemies break through from the stairs.

Miss Ryder backed slowly away from her adversary, but had nowhere to run. The Black Rook bore down and forced her towards the wall. The Steed bristled with anger behind the iron bars, battering at the gate with his shoulder.

Tensing her muscles for action, Miss Ryder looked for exposed spots on her foe that might be vulnerable to a sharp, stunning snap with a knee or elbow. He had steel plates protecting his torso, groin, and thighs. Any attack would end up bruising herself more than him. As if he could read her mind, the Black Rook snickered.

"I know all of your fighting tricks, darling," he said. "No one will save you this time."

_You know all of my fighting tricks except one,_ she thought. But with the armor pieces covering all of his nerve plexuses, it would be impossible for her to unleash her Hurricane Kick to paralyze him as she had planned.

"Capturing the White Knight," he continued, "will secure victory for the Black side. As well as being a personal conquest for me." He moved in, pinning her against the wall. "It's been a long time since I've done this."

His face drew closer, his mouth on a direct line to contact hers. Miss Ryder's eyes widened.

_A kiss? My enemy is trying to kiss me?_

She quickly crossed her palms over his lips and pushed him away. The maneuver allowed her to scamper free, but she was still trapped in the enclosed space. If she didn't find a quick way out, the Black Rook's superior strength would overwhelm her at close quarters. Miss Ryder backed up against the tapestry and looked to the Steed for help.

The horse still couldn't reach her in spite of repeatedly crashing into the gate's bars. His body was a blur as he moved rapidly back and forth, slamming against the ironwork. At times he even seemed to be in two places at once, with multiple versions of the Steed hitting the barricade simultaneously.

The Black Rook looked startled at the horse's ability, but then chuckled. "His potion may give him super speed, but not super strength. It will take him quite a while to knock that down." He once again closed in on Miss Ryder, who suddenly looked very defenseless in the scant leather bodice and miniskirt.

The Steed knew that Miss Ryder's nerve kicks wouldn't work through the armor. It was vital to get the Black Rook to remove his steel protection. Then the horse remembered what had made Miss Ryder cast off her breastplate: the lightning bolts from the top of the Dark Tower.

The Steed shouted to her, "How do they get the electricity to the roof?"

Miss Ryder started to answer, then realized it was a rhetorical question. The Steed was right. Surely, it would be too awkward to have the generator up on the roof; it must be down below, where it could be easily fed with coal. That meant there had to be a cable running from downstairs to the electrode on top of the tower.

_Not something secret _on _the tapestry_, she thought. _Something behind it._

She ripped the tapestry from the wall and flung it in the Rook's face. Her eyes lit up as she saw the revealed power cable attached to the wall. Maybe it would still have residual power in its condensers...

Miss Ryder managed to work it free just as the Black Rook disentangled himself from the tapestry. She unplugged the connector and exposed a steel prong at the end of the cable. Aiming it at the Rook, she ran towards him.

A lightning bolt arced across the gap and danced on the surface of his black steel armor. "Aha!" she cried. "How does it feel to be on the receiving end?"

The Steed had to retreat to avoid friendly fire as tendrils of electricity hopped around the room, some of them finding the iron gate. Miss Ryder's leather acted as perfect insulation, shielding her from the occasional backlash.

"Again!" she called out enthusiastically as she chased the Black Rook around the room. Just as she herself had been forced to do in the courtyard, the Rook found himself hurling off pieces of his armor to avoid the shocks. Soon he was left in nothing but a pair of cloth breeches.

"Miss Ryder!" the Steed prompted. "Your Whirlwind Kick!"

He watched as she swooped in and started snapping her foot like lightning into the Black Rook's torso. Although the stinging kicks were precisely aimed, the horse doubted they packed enough wallop to bring down a man that size. Still, if the point was to cause some sort of nerve feedback, as she had described...

The Steed could see where her attack got its name. Her opponent looked like he was standing in the middle of a tornado, teetering as he attempted to avoid the rapid succession of strikes to his chest, abdomen, and back.

Miss Ryder finished the sequence and landed on one foot with the other straight up in the air, her legs forming a nearly perfect vertical line. In her leather miniskirt, the pose was outrageous, but it lasted for only a second; she commenced delivering the same set of kicks again, symmetrically, this time from the opposite side.

"The Hurricane Kick!" the Steed gasped.

The skimpy outfit at least allowed her to deliver her high kicks unhindered. After attacking the front, Miss Ryder circled around to fire her bare foot into the nape of the Rook's neck and the small of his back. With a delicate grunt of exertion, she finished him off with a low snap kick from behind, aimed at his most vulnerable plexus for maximum effect.

"That ought to overload his nervous system," she announced smugly.

The Steed noticed that the Black Rook wasn't doubled over as one might have expected from the flurry of kicks. "I think it worked!" he exclaimed.

Miss Ryder's mouth wrinkled into a wry smile as she poked her adversary with a single finger. His knees instantly buckled and he collapsed face-down on the floor, narrowly missing a landing directly on his nose.

"Perfect," she affirmed.

The Black Rook gasped with anger as he managed to turn his head a few degrees. "I can't move!"

"Relax," Miss Ryder said breezily. "It's only temporary. Just long enough for me to capture you. I hope you won't feel too humiliated." She retrieved her whip from the floor. "Particularly after I do this," she added.

A glimmer of apprehension showed in the Rook's eyes, but Miss Ryder merely stood over his back and grabbed one wrist, then the other, and looped the whip around them. Then she pulled his ankles back and hoisted them into the bundle, knotting the whip and pulling it tight. The Black Rook was powerless to resist as she hog-tied him.

The Steed inclined his head approvingly as Miss Ryder struck an impromptu victory pose over her helpless conquest. "This spy game isn't as tough as people make it out to be," she boasted. She knelt down and spoke teasingly into the Rook's ear. "You'll never get any kisses from me, you fiend."

Her celebration was short-lived; she was interrupted by the sound of splintering wood. The Pawns were already through the outer barricade, and only the iron gate at the entryway separated them from the tower chamber.

"I don't think the Black pieces will appreciate your efforts," the Steed said glibly. "If there are enough of them, they'll be able to corner and capture even a Knight like yourself."

"Good point." Miss Ryder went to the secret switch and raised the inner barrier separating her from the Steed. Then she gestured to the trussed-up Rook on the floor and pointed to the elevator platform. "We take him with us." She grabbed the handle of the whip and started tugging.

The Black Rook moaned weakly, indicating that his nerve endings might be recovering enough to feel the sting of Miss Ryder's kicks. The Steed watched as the Pawns chiseled stone from a spot just outside the gate.

"There must be a fail-safe in the wall," the horse observed. "When they get to the wiring, they'll be able to open the gate."

Miss Ryder had only managed to drag her captive a dozen feet, and already she was panting from the strain.

"I think I need help," she gasped.

"I don't have a harness," the Steed said doubtfully. "I suppose I could take the whip handle in my teeth..."

The Black Rook taunted her from the floor. "Bit off more than you can chew, eh, Knight?"

"Careful," she said as she poked his ribs with her toe. "The feeling will be coming back shortly. Then you'll remember all of the spots where I kicked you."

An intermittent hum sounded from the iron gate. The bars lifted a few inches, then stopped.

"Those Pawns are going to be swarming on us in seconds," the Steed warned.

Miss Ryder frowned. Escape would be difficult dragging the weight of a full-grown man.

The Steed continued, "You'll have to leave him behind. Discretion is the better part, you know..."

"I say we stand and fight," she answered defiantly. "If we go outside, they'll just hurl more lightning bolts at us. We'd never make it out of the courtyard."

"That's right!" the Black Rook sneered. "Give up now, White Knight!"

"It's a shame my Hurricane Kick doesn't paralyze the mouth as well," Miss Ryder said as she twitched her bare foot threateningly near his stomach.

The Steed remained calm. "It'll take them some time to reconnect the generator cable. If we hurry, we can be out of range before the lightning device is operational again."

Miss Ryder gave him an unexpected smile. "I hope you're right." She abandoned her captive to join the Steed on the elevator platform.

The iron barricade lifted and the Pawns rushed in, only to watch dumbfounded as the woman and the horse descended away from the tower room on the elevator.

"Go back down, you fools! Capture her!" the Black Rook cried. "No, wait—someone untie this whip!"

-oOo-

Several Pawns had started running back down the tower stairs, but the elevator platform was dropping far more swiftly. Miss Ryder straightened the bowler on the horse's head.

"I didn't want the Black Rook overhearing us," she said into the Steed's ear, "but I still have a plan to defeat him."

"And that is...?"

"We sabotage the lightning generator."

The Steed lifted an equine eyebrow. "We? Since when did I get opposable thumbs?"

"I've already seen the power cable," she continued. "There has to be a ground cable, as well, or they'd shock themselves. If we can rewire that, the next time they try to use it..."

"Guy Fawkes Night?"

A smile flirted over her mouth. "Something like that."

The Steed looked up at the enemy pieces charging down the stairs. The elevator had reached the ground floor roughly five flights ahead of them.

"They'll be on us any minute," he warned.

"A minute's all I need."

Now that Miss Ryder knew what to look for and which side of the tower to check, she quickly found several cables on the wall behind a suit of armor. She motioned for the Steed to nose in next to her.

"Here they are. This one goes from the generator to the roof, so this one must be the ground." She briefly looked around for a sword, or anything with a sharp edge, but nothing was at hand. "We don't have any tools, so you'll have to stomp on it to sever the wire."

The Steed tentatively stepped on the insulation. "Like this?"

"You must weigh a hundred stone," she encouraged. "Put some hoof into it!"

The Steed reared back and threw his whole weight on his front legs and trampled the cable. The casing split open to reveal woven copper wire inside. Miss Ryder's eyes lit up.

"Now we just connect it to something not grounded," she explained, "like, say, this suit of armor. Then the next time the Black Rook fires up the generator, it will send a bolt of lightning down through the center of the tower to El Cid here, frying everything in between. Hopefully something flammable, preferably explosive."

"Have I told you that you're extremely attractive when you're destructive?" said the Steed. "But if they check down here, won't they spot the sabotage and fix it?"

"I'm counting on them being in too big a hurry after they reconnect the cable upstairs."

The Pawns were only two flights away. If not for their heavy armor, they could have already slid down the banister and captured the intruders.

"We have to get out of here," Miss Ryder said as she remounted the Steed. The horse moved at a high-speed blur towards the wooden front door, only to find it wouldn't budge when he hit it with his shoulder.

"We're blocked in!" he shouted.

"They've probably barricaded it from the other side. Try kicking out a portion of the stone wall."

The Steed reared up and slammed the wall with his front hooves, confident after his victory over the cable. The stone was completely unyielding, although the mortar between the blocks cracked a bit. He struck twice more without effect.

Miss Ryder frowned at his efforts. "Not enough time," she said, "and not enough leverage." She tapped the horse's flank with the side of her foot. "Turn around," she commanded tersely.

The Steed obeyed without question.

"Now kick backwards," she ordered.

The horse fired his hind legs into the stonework. Although the impact was much more forceful than his front kick, he still barely made a scratch. Miss Ryder shook her head at the result.

"Not good enough," she said. "Harder!" Instinctively, she smacked his rump sharply with the palm of her hand.

The Steed let out a startled cry. His tail swished violently as he unleashed a devastating mule-kick. A hole opened in the wall as a block tumbled out.

"That did it!" she exclaimed. "It's a reflex. Like hitting a knee with a hammer."

"That's not my knee you're hitting!"

"Again!" she cried, playfully slapping his rear.

The horse reacted by second-nature, unable to control his powerful haunches as they blasted away at the masonry. Miss Ryder continued her assault on his backside, and the Steed's kicks became increasingly more damaging with each of her whacks.

"Fantastic!" She wickedly spanked him again. "Just one more!"

"You're enjoying this entirely too much," the Steed teased. He grunted as he gave a massive final kick that crumbled a horse-sized hole in the wall.

A clatter came from the opposite side of the room as the Pawns reached the bottom of the stairs. Miss Ryder ducked her head so that the Steed could dart through the ragged opening into the courtyard.

"Here they come!" she grinned with excitement. "Make sure they follow us so they don't have time to check around."

The horse made a dash for freedom, but his hooves weren't their usual blur. Several of the guards outside had rushed over to prevent the escape attempt, and the Steed had to dodge and weave to avoid their weapons.

Miss Ryder could hear voices from the roof of the Dark Tower; the Black Rook was barking orders to his lackeys. She wondered if his paralysis had worn off yet. She could clearly hear him while she clung to the horse's mane through the evasive maneuvers.

"Power up the generator," the Black Rook shouted. "The woman isn't to be harmed. The shock should kill the Steed first, since he's in contact with the ground."

Miss Ryder smacked her bare heels into the horse's flanks to spur him on. "Better hurry now, Steed! We've got to get clear in case our sabotage fails. Or especially if it works." The horse scrambled forward with such speed that his tail touched the ground as he pushed off; she leaned forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

"Fire!" came a cry from the top of the tower.

"The TrotFast," the Steed panted. "It's failing!"

The mysterious hoofoaccelerator provided by the Septapus finally gave out. The horse's legs buckled as a thunderous explosion roared from the tower. Miss Ryder turned her head to see the windows light up with flashes of electricity. The front door was blown from its hinges as the shock wave rolled out into the courtyard.

Miss Ryder found herself pitched forward through the air, separated from the Steed by the force of the blast. She landed on her hip a dozen yards away; the Tanner's leather performed admirably, absorbing all the damage and protecting her from any cuts or abrasions. Massive stone blocks soared overhead and she shielded her face with her arm. She temporarily lost sight of the Steed amid the smoke and chaos. Enemy soldiers were streaming out of the Dark Tower and running for the hills.

The Black Rook made his exit supported by a Pawn under each arm. His limbs were no longer completely paralyzed, which meant that the feeling must have returned throughout his body. He seemed to be walking gingerly. Miss Ryder smirked in satisfaction. Her snap kicks were finally making their presence known.

She folded her arms and marveled at the destruction. The tower was empty now, and flames were coming from the windows and battlements. In the distance, people were evacuating the Lodging-House thinking that war had broken out.

"That should put an end to the Black Rook's plans," Miss Ryder said smugly. "And Cranberry Row." She caught a glimpse of the white horse from the corner of her eye. She called out, "Look at it, Steed! He's finished!" Then she noticed the horse wasn't standing, but lying unmoving on the ground. A crimson streak of blood stained his flank.

"Steed!"

Miss Ryder threw herself on the horse's side and pressed an ear to his warm flesh. She was relieved to hear a strong heartbeat.

"Please be okay," she soothed as she stroked his coat. The horse sighed contentedly.

"I'll be fine. I was just grazed by a stone fragment." The Steed struggled back to his feet.

Miss Ryder wrinkled her mouth. "You scared the life out of me."

"I didn't know you cared," he teased. He indicated the path through the outer fence with his nose. "Good thing I didn't make it through there."

Miss Ryder's eyes widened at the sight. Stone blocks had been hurled onto every inch of the paved entryway. She would have been crushed along with the Steed had the hoofoaccelerator been working.

A rush of emotion swept over Miss Ryder as she threw her arms around the horse's neck. She caressed his mane and kissed the side of his muzzle. She couldn't deny it any longer; she was desperately in love with the Steed and the adventures he brought. If only he were a human! Perhaps if she wished fervently enough, he would transform.

"Thank you, dear Steed," she said tenderly.

"You're quite welcome, milady."

-oOo-


	8. Borogoves

**Chapter 8**

Steed returned from the boat with two glasses in one hand and an ice bucket in the other. Humidity was already causing condensate to drip from the chilled bottle inside. He thought he had heard Mrs. Peel cry out his name in an unusual voice as he approached on the river, but he was relieved to see that she wasn't in any distress.

She looked like a sleeping geisha in her silk outfit, curled up against the willow tree, bare feet demurely nestled in the grass. _Putting the pajamas to good use,_ he thought. Although he had noticed earlier, it was now completely evident from the way the clingy top draped over her breasts that she wore nothing underneath. Below her waist, her legs were parted with both hands tucked inside. Steed arched an eyebrow as he watched her fingertips trace out a delicate caress on the thin fabric between her thighs, accompanied by a cooing sound. _That must be some dream..._ It would probably be best to rouse her before it got too embarrassing. He discreetly leaned over to touch her.

Emma stirred before he could make contact and suddenly slipped her hands up to his shoulders. Pulling him into a close embrace, she ran her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips to his in a tender kiss.

"Thank you, dear Steed," she murmured.

"You're quite welcome, milady." He gave her a wry smile. "Though after that, I feel _I_ should be the one giving thanks, Mrs. Peel."

"Mrs. Peel?" she said in a daze. "Don't you mean Miss Ryder? Wait—you're not a horse!"

"Only in name," said Steed.

"Some things are a little fuzzy. But I am certain of one thing: _you_ are a bowler-wearing horse."

"Any white rabbits with pocket watches?"

"Actually, there was a pocket watch..."

"Sounds like someone had a midsummer daydream," he teased.

Emma shook her head. "This was no ordinary dream. The Ladja appeared here on the banks of the Thames, wearing his checkered mask. I chased him through a giant game of chess. I was a Knight, and you were my Steed."

"At least that part makes sense." He remembered her provocative self-caress. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he gave her a cocky grin.

"Were you riding on my back? How was it?"

Emma realized that she still had her arms wrapped lovingly around Steed's neck. She was aroused to the point of losing all control. Blame it on that crazy Freudian dream. She didn't want to release him; if anything, she wanted to kiss him again, this time while fully awake. Perhaps while unclothed.

"I met all sorts of strange people and animals," she continued. "I was helped by two other women, a blonde and a brunette."

"Curiouser and curiouser."

"The Ladja tried to kiss me."

"Speaking as someone who was just on the receiving end, I can hardly blame him," Steed said. "You _are_ eminently kissable, Mrs. Peel."

Emma felt herself redden with a warm glow. She enjoyed Steed's closeness as he kneeled on the grass between her legs. She gave him a playful smirk.

"I was able to defeat him by using something called a Hurricane Kick."

"That sounds typical enough, one of the dazzling moves from your repertoire."

"Except it isn't. I've never heard of such a technique," Emma countered. "It can only be a fantasy, the product of some mind-altered state." She looked at him teasingly. "Are you sure that the cheese was properly aged? What about those mushroom accents?"

"Pure portabellos!" Steed protested. "No hallucinatory properties. If you must blame something, blame the heat." He gave her a broad smile. "And I've got a cure for that." He displayed the ice bucket with the cold bottle inside.

"I knew you went for champagne," Emma said smugly.

Steed dug into the ice and pulled out a smaller pint bottle and jiggled it. "Chilled orange juice."

She smiled. "Mimosas!"

He carefully opened the champagne so as not to spill any, expertly staggering the cork to release the pressure. Then he sat immediately opposite her on the blanket and filled the two glasses to the halfway point. Emma leaned in and added the juice to the remaining half while he delicately swirled the mixture so as not to lose any bubbles.

"We're a perfect combination," Steed observed.

"I was just dreaming the same thing." She settled close enough that their legs touched.

He gave her a glass and raised his in toast.

"To mimsy borogroves," he said.

"_Borogoves_," Emma corrected. "To my trusty Steed." She clinked her glass against his and gave him a winsome smile.

"May I never have to face an adventure without him."

-oOo-

**THE END**

-oOo-

**Credits**

_Black Tower lightning generator designed by_ Philo Jupiter

_Black leather G-string provided by_ Mei-Ling Xiong

_TrotFast™ Hoofoaccelerator courtesy of the_ Brindleshire Research Association

_Cameo by_ Rita Fox _as the Red Fox_

Ursula Leov _as the Queen Bee_

Cadmon Cephalus _as the Septapus (Heptapus)_

B. Shifter _as the Hermit_

Tara King _as the White King_

Asti Spumante (X2) _as the Twin Terriers_

Cathy Gale (nee Bishop) _as the White Bishop_

Vasily Dmitriov _as the Black Knight_

Peter Peel (nee Pehlovich) _as the Black Rook_

Emma Peel _as Miss Ryder_

_and_

John Steed _as the Horse_

-oOo-


	9. Afterstory

**Chapter 9: Afterstory - A Midsummer Night's Passion**

Steed was in the kitchen of his Westminster apartment, cleaning up items from the picnic hamper. He rinsed the glasses along with the champagne and juice bottles. There was no liquid refreshment leftover to go in the refrigerator, since he had accidentally spilled one of the mimosa ingredients on the leg of Emma's oriental lounging pajamas.

"Sorry about the orange juice, Mrs. Peel," he sang out through the kitchen doorway.

"It wasn't much," she called from the bathroom, "but silk is very delicate. Best not to let it set up."

Steed finished washing and went in the living room to recline on the sofa. He would have worried that his stamina was running short of his younger partner's, but she had rested up with a nap under a tree in the afternoon; he had been going full tilt since morning. As he lay back on the couch, the sound of the running water and the light clatter of Mrs. Peel's laundry efforts were mesmerizing.

It suddenly occurred to him that without her loungewear bottoms, Mrs. Peel was going to need coverage below the waist. He rose and headed for the bedroom to find something suitable, like loose-fitting corduroys, when she intercepted him in the hallway. He was shocked to see that she was dressed in only the pajama top.

She must have been wearing just panties underneath. He found himself wondering what kind... Shiny satin? Or something more revealing, like fine lace? Steed's eyes widened as he thought he caught a brief flash of auburn along the bottom hem of her silk top. Could she be wearing _nothing_ underneath? No; surely it must just be something very sheer.

During her laundry efforts, the top button of her pajamas had come undone. She seemed completely unconcerned about this, even though her bosom was nearly exposed. He had noticed earlier that she had chosen not to wear a bra under the thin top—was that meant to be a subtle invitation to him? Or just for comfort due to the June heat? With the plunging neckline and the clinging fabric, she could just as easily have been topless.

He took the opportunity to admire how perfect her breasts were: small enough to be proud and firm, large enough to make a cleavage line several inches long when pressed together by a tight, sexy dress. Mrs. Peel perhaps sensed his wicked thoughts and reached for her buttons, but instead of re-fastening any, she undid another so he could appreciate the view even more as she walked over.

Steed remained motionless, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. She looked up into his eyes with a playful expression.

"You were quite heroic in my dream this afternoon," she commented.

He tried to remain cool. "As a horse, if I recall."

She nodded. "It was an epic journey."

"I trust I acquitted myself well?"

"As usual."

He gave her a boyish grin. "I trust that you used your devastating kicks to send the Ladja away with his tail between his legs?"

She smirked. "As usual."

Mrs. Peel slid her hands onto to his chest, causing her pajama top to ride up. He secretly tried to catch a glimpse below her waist to discover what the mystery lingerie was—if any. The view was still obscured, this time by her closeness. But from what he could see of her, there could be no doubt that she was extremely aroused. She smiled at him, and he knew that in that unfathomable way of hers, she had clearly read his mind.

"In my dream, you seemed very impressed by my outfit," she said.

"As a horse, of course."

"Indeed. I believe you particularly complimented my 'hindquarters.'"

"That must have been quite an outfit."

"A black leather bodice and miniskirt," she lilted, tracing a design on his shirt with a fingertip.

Steed's voice came out a bit unsteadily. "Anything else?"

"Only the briefest of G-strings," she answered breezily. "Also in black leather."

"An exotic dancer's costume," Steed mused. "I should have liked very much to see that."

"Would you have been... stimulated?" she teased.

"Seeing any part of you in leather stimulates me, Mrs. Peel."

"The leather undergarment was very thin," Emma said matter-of-factly, "and very clingy. It felt... empowering." Steed was breathing heavily now as Emma pressed into him. She moved her mouth close to his ear.

"You couldn't seem to keep your eyes off it," her lips fluttered against his cheek. "That pleased me very much."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But you may like what I'm wearing now even better..."

Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and slipped her knee between his thighs. Steed had to resist the automatic reflex to press his legs back together. He had seen so many baddies slide to the ground from this exact position, stunned and helpless, after she disabled them by snapping her knee sharply upward in her signature _hiza-kin_ groin strike. It was a little unnerving in case she forgot herself. Steed smiled as he recalled the warning in her KGB profile: _Very dangerous. Do not handle at all!_

He ventured a probing kiss to her neck, and she responded by lifting his chin so that his mouth found hers. Their tongues danced lightly together as she pressed her breasts urgently against his chest. Steed still couldn't help but wonder what she was wearing below the waist. He slid his hand downward, seeking the warmth of her abdomen. Emma saw the movement and smiled knowingly as she stood on tiptoe, her feet set wide apart in anticipation.

His fingers came into contact with delicate curls and intense heat. His question had been answered. Emma trembled with passion at his touch.

She was breathless. "Everything I have there... all that you're holding... belongs to you."

"Emma..." If ever a time called for the use of her first name, this was it. "Do you mean—?"

"_Now_," she commanded.

Steed slipped the barely-buttoned silk top off her shoulders and it fell around her ankles. His lips instantly found her skin.

"Steed," she moaned softly, "Steed—"

-oOo-

"Steed?" A woman stood over him. His eyes focused on her cute nose. "Steed!"

He looked at her through a haze. "Mrs. Peel?"

"You fell asleep on the sofa."

_What a dream!_ He stared at her groggily. _And what a time to interrupt..._

Steed was awkwardly sprawled on the couch. Mrs. Peel was standing in front of him dressed in a pair of his brown corduroy pants and a white cotton shirt.

"What happened to your pajamas?" he asked.

"Why? Did you fancy a slumber party?" she teased. Emma helped him up to a seated position on the Regency and took the spot next to him.

"My pajamas are de-spotting in the bathroom as we speak," she explained. "I took the liberty of borrowing some of your clothes." Emma displayed the baggy rolled-up cuffs on the pants and shirt, then flapped them about comically. "You're much bigger than you look on the outside." She leaned close and looked into his eyes. "Were you dreaming?"

Steed lifted her chin with a finger, pressed his lips to hers and kissed her tenderly, their tongues briefly touching.

Emma's eyes widened, though she didn't seem at all displeased. "What was that for?"

Steed gave her a playful grin. "Just like you, I was confused when you woke me."

"I suppose you're entitled to even the score. Did you think I was a horse?"

"Not at all," he said brightly. "I was completely sure that you were you."

Emma snuggled next to him on the couch. "So that's the kind of mood you're in." She gave him a smile that was sweetness and light.

"In that case, let me tell you a story about a brave knight and her loyal steed..."

-oOo-


End file.
